#people who growl and hiss at others >>>>> everyone else. no sarcasm

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter one rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peter’s greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

“Married?” You squeaked as your eyes grazed over the words on the card a hundred times without retaining any of the information. As you momentarily forgot how to even read, you had to rely on the words coming out of Andy’s mouth.

“Yes, uh, married.” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Dani and I are getting married over the summer.”

The awkward silence filled the air, suffocating the three of you, but you didn’t care. You were still staring at that damn card. That damn card that said your ex boyfriend was getting married to another girl.

“Married.” You repeated, at a loss for words.

“You said that already, dumbass.” Venom chimed in, telepathically. You rolled your eyes and kicked the bench, signaling to her to quiet down.

“Yeah.” He said again. “I know we’re young, but I’m sure about her. She’s the love of my life.”

“Wow. Good for you.” You faked a smile as you stared at the invitation. “It’s Uh, it’s a lot to take in.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you in person. I figured it would be better than you randomly getting the card in the mail and finding out that way.” Andy explained.

“Our hero.” Venom snarled, so you pinched your leg to send her the message to be quiet.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m glad you told me.” You lied as your eyes finally processed something on the card.

“You’re getting married on August 10?” You asked, finally tearing your eyes away from the invitation to look at him. He looked good, you had to admit. His curly brown hair was cut shorter than usual and he was still wearing his police uniform.

“Bright and early. I chose that day because-“

“Because it’s your parents anniversary. I know.” You cut him off, a little sharply.

“I’m sorry if this is awkward.” He frowned. “I understand if you’re too hurt to come.”

“It’s fine. We were together and now we’re not. Besides, I’m really happy for you and Dani. She really helped me get back on my feet when Venom and I first bonded. I like her. And if you want to marry her on that day, then go ahead.” You said, and you meant it. You did like Dani. You’d like her more if she wasnt dating the love of your life, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

“You’re lying. We want him back. He looks so juicy and delicious.” Venom said. You choked on your saliva for a moment at her words and Andy was quick to pat your back.

“You alright?” He asked. You nodded and made a mental note to have a domestic conversation about boundaries with Venom when you got home.

“I’m fine. And anyways, I’ve uh, I’ve moved on.” You lied, adverting your eyes so he wouldn’t catch on.

“What? No we haven’t?” Venom didn’t grasp the social cue.

“You have?” Andy asked, seemingly taken aback.

“No! We love you!” Venom growled in your head.

“Yep. I’m in a deeply committed and loving relationship.” You nodded as you looked anywhere but at him. It wasn’t a total lie. You were technically in a relationship with Venom, though be it a host/parasite kinda deal.

“What’s he like?” Andy wondered, looking pissed off all the sudden.

“They’re great. They’re, uh…tall. Super, super tall.” You began to describe Venom. So far, it was all true. Venom was 7’6 in her final form.

“They’re black, like yourself, and they’ve got this big, beautiful smile.” You could feel yourself cringing internally as you painted the picture for him.

“You think our smile is beautiful?” Venom teased you.

“And they just always have my back. They’re my ride or die, you know? If I didn’t have them, I’d be dead. Literally.” You finished. Also true. If you and Venom ever got separated, you would both die. Andy was looking off into the distance, sucking his teeth before nodding again.

“That’s nice.” He said, but his tone didn’t sound like he thought it was nice.

“I’d literally die.” You repeated to fill the awkward silence.

“I get it.” He deadpanned.

“Like, I’d freaking perish.”

“Alright.” He held up his hands and you stopped.

“So, do you think you can come?” He brought the conversation back to him, something he was good at.

Of course you could come. What else would you be doing? But you were just getting back on my feet after losing your job and a wedding might be too much too soon. You were at rock bottom before you found Venom. Well, before you found each other. That was nearly a year ago, but that day came back in flashes every now and then...

“You’re seriously breaking up with me? Over a job?” You asked as you followed Andy out of the police station. You were under the impression that he had just been fired because of the files you took from his computer. Classified files on local businessman Carlton Drake and the people he had killed with his experiments, of course.

“Yeah, I am.” He snapped. “I’m done with you.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You pleaded as you followed him down the street.

“Okay.” He stopped, looking angry. “Do you want to talk about how you embarrassed me in front of my precinct? I just got yelled at in front of my all my coworkers because of you and your greed. You used me for your stupid show.”

“I wasn’t being greedy.” You insisted, ignoring that he called your job stupid. “You had the information on Carlton Drake and I needed it to make an accusation. He’s killing people! He’s a bad guy, Andy. And I write about and report bad men. That’s my job. I didn’t know that looking at your files would get you fired.”

Andy put his hands on his hips and looked around, suddenly sheepish.

“I wasn’t fired.” He mumbled.

“What?” You switched from upset to confused. “Then why are you angry?”

“I was demoted to traffic duty for two weeks because of you.” He pointed an angry finger at you and you almost laughed.

“I’m sorry, wait.” You compared yourself. “You’re breaking up with me after two years together because I got you demoted to traffic duty? Are you serious?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to wear that orange vest? It’s humiliating.” Andy shouted and you covered your mouth to keep from laughing. “Everyone in the neighborhood knows me and now they’re gonna know I’m on traffic duty.”

“People know you?” Your eyes widened at how dense he was being. “Andy, I’m a local celebrity. I had a whole show on YouTube that I was just fired from. Actually fired. You’re just a police officer who was demoted.”

“To traffic duty.” He repeated, as if it was suddenly worse.

“I know!” You snapped before calming down. “Are we really over? Just because of one mistake?”

“You used me.” He shrugged. “I can’t trust you.”

You stared at him as he walked over to you, never breaking eye contact as he took his key off your key ring.

“We’re over.” He hissed before turning around and walking away.

“Y/N?” Andy waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of it.

“Oh, right sorry. Um…” You trailed off as you mulled it over. You were happy for him, but you weren’t ready to see him marry someone else. That was gonna be you guys. Of course you wanted to be at his wedding, but you wanted to be the bride.

“Actually, I cant.” You blurted, quickly thinking of a lie. “The Daily Bugle called me and offered me a job in New York. They want me to cover a story on some serial killer. I was gonna move there part time until the story is done. I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

It was partially true. The Daily Bugle did reach out to ask you to write the story, but you had planned to write it at home. News of Andy’s impending marriage was enough to drive you out of the state.

“Oh really?” Andy raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

He was never one to celebrate you, even when you were together, but his reaction seemed different now. He almost seemed surprised that you were still successful without him.

“Yea. I just finalized everything this morning.” You lied again as you wondered how you’d get a NYC apartment on such short notice. “But hey, maybe I’ll finish early and make it back in time for your big day. I mean, it’s only April. I have lots of time. How many people could this guy possible kill until August?” You joked, but Andy didn’t laugh. He never really got your sense of humor.

“That’s great Y/N.” He nodded, not much enthusiasm behind it. “Things are really turning around for you. I can’t believe you found a job and a boyfriend. I didn’t think it would happen.”

You narrowed your eyes at his condescending comment but decided to brush it off.

“Well, it did. I’m on to bigger and better things.” You cut into him a little as you stood up. “I better go. I told my partner I’d meet them for lunch. Bye!”

“Bye!” Andy called after you, still in a funk from what you told him.

You practically ran home and slid down your door once you got inside.

“Holy shit. I’m such a liar.” You grimaced and covered my face with my hands. Venom manifested herself in her snake-like form and looked at you.

“You’re not a liar if we move to New York and start dating.” She said, making you laugh.

“You have a point. In that case, will you be my girlfriend, Miss Venom?” You asked sarcastically and Venom grinned.

“You’re not really my type, but I’m willing to settle.” Venom matched your sarcasm.

“Then let’s make moving plans, baby.” You sighed. “We’re going to New York.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

[bakunobakuyes]

I’m not going anywhere || Bakugou Katsuki

this is long, srry.

WARNINGS: smut, softdom bakugo, cursing, alcohol, verbal abuse

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It’s not an empty floor you’d step into. Well, it's not supposed to be empty - third year students occupying the rdorms were downstairs, mingling, enjoying a small party. It's almost forgotten when you hear the thud against the thin wall,  coming for a room on the far left corner. The small hiss and growl of a “yes” and a “fuck” is something that seems to be filling the room. 

The smell of vanilla lingers in his room, engraving itself on his shirt. It's her fault. That goddamn shampoo and perfume she wears. That goddamn smell is too familiar to the aspiring hero. Even the smell of the vodka they had consumed seemed to be overpowered by the heavenly scent. 

The vanilla smell is clean-cutting compared to the smell of burnt caramel that stung her nostrils when she was close enough to him. It's not the sting that makes her stomach crunch in disgust. that was what made it weird. Self-control just did wonders for this girl. 

Self-control wasn't important now. That was evident as she dragged her fingernails down his back, drawing blood from the red marks that followed. It's rough; he likes it. You know how she can tell? There was no sickening sneer or taunting smirk when he let out a small gasp, teeth coming to clamp onto the skin on her shoulder. It takes almost everything in her not to give in when he shivers. 

They weren't supposed to be like this. How did they even end up like this? She's not supposed to want this. But she wants this. She wants the way his fingernails dig into the soft skin of her thighs, holding her up. She wants the groans he gives; the wet, sloppy kisses he gives on her neck, collarbone and any other place he thinks of.

There's a voice in the back of her head, whispering, "Wicked little girls like you grow up to be witchy women." every time she touches him. Like an old ghost, whispering in her ear. That same voice whispers that she is un-submitted and lustful as Jezebel, the Bible's famous wḣore. A male voice she knows all too well. She's been rebelling from that voice she had begun to walk. That voice tells her she was marked by sin; no matter how hard she scrubs every morning she will never be clean of it. 

She wants the feeling of her back hitting the wall behind her with every thrust - feeling him fill inside her. The thought itself was painfully terrific and made her want nothing more than just /this/. She wants to feel his lips against her skin; she wants the noises he makes with each thrust he gives her - feeling him pull out almost slowly and tortuously before slamming back into her. She wants the feeling of his ash blonde hair when she would fist it.

Their clothes are still on; both much too eager to remove articles. It's the only thing keeping them from really bruising each other with kisses, gripping, biting - anything you could think of when you have sex. The black skirt was shoved to wrap around her hips, underwear hanging around her ankle. The back of his shirt have a few traces of blood. No thanks to the girl between him and the damned wall of his bedroom. 

It's her voice drawling out, "Harder, fuck you, harder." as he pulls out tortuously slow before slamming back into her, going back to his fast, angry pace.  He shouldn't be too surprised. He still remembers the bruises on her neck made by teeth that he had seen one day at school. Teeth that aren’t his. Just the thought triggers an almost barbaric response, craving to make her his own.

It's her voice that told him as soon as they were done with this round, she was going to ride him so hard. It's her voice that is saying his name, causing flips from his stomach as that single word spilt through her lips.  

Oh God, shit, fuck - it was being slurred out. It just wasn't the girl saying it; it was the blonde dragging out the words. She's not the girl who makes guys say that. She's the girl who goes to guys so she can slur out those words. These feelings were indescribable, and she wishes there was a word to describe what she was feeling - describe what she hoped he was feeling. There wasn't.

There wasn't a word that could describe /them/. Both terrible with words; you could only imagine how easily that stopped them from expressing their feelings to each other. It's the only thing that stood in the way. They both know that. 

Soon enough they were on the bed, a second round in the process. 

She's the girl who watched. She watched everything go by without saying a damn thing. She's the girl whose father demanded that she would leave his home and move into the dorms, finding the long letters he had stuffed in her bag before she had left only saying, "God will eventually forgive her for her sins." She's the girl who kept her vulnerability secret. She's the girl who didn’t need anyone. She's the girl who enrolled in the hero course purely out of spite.

Only asking for one thing and one thing only - to never fall in love and ever endure a broken heart. It was a ridiculous want and maybe too cliche. But wanting this boy was ridiculous. He's not meant for her. He's too good - too powerful - for a girl like her. He simply wanted what all men wanted. No matter how many times he would tell her he wasn’t trying to be a friend to her she would never believe him. Not as long as he said it with that goddamn smug expression on his face. 

It was a fucking joke. Them fucking was a joke. They weren't meant to want each other. 

But they want. 

It's a feeling that seems to possess every inch of their bodies and minds; keeping them overwhelmed when near each other. You'd have to be insane to think it's mainly sexual. It's not mainly sexual when she wants to simply spend time with him. It's not mainly sexual when he breaks all the rules he  sets for herself for her. This isn't a mainly sexual relationship, but neither of them will say it. Regardless if this is the first time he's between her thighs, making her slur his name. 

That goddamn voice. It haunts his thoughts; leaving him to hear it everywhere. Regardless if she is present or not. He wonders why it's quiet when everything she said was laced with sarcasm, and unseen sadness seeping into every word. Goddamn it. She doesn't trust him enough to even admit that there's something between them. He doesn't have the ability to open his mouth to say something that wasn’t laced with faux hostility that hid his aching vulnerability.

He should be fucking someone else, but he still chooses her out of all people. he shouldn't even be interested in her, but he is. Why? She wouldn't ever know. She doesn't understand him. He shouldn't be fucking her, goddamn it! She shouldn't be the girl he crawls on top of, creating a fast-paced rhythm as he hoists her legs around his waist. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall, stroking his ego. 

She sees it, and it makes her wonder if he had genuine feelings for her. She'd be a silly, little girl if she thought he didn't. You bet your ass she's that silly, little girl. The girl with striking eyes doesn't believe she is worthy of love, for she had grown up with that being forced into her head. Her brothers even suffering the same fate before her. They were all doomed from the start. 

Why would she drag him into this fiery pit of destruction? 

The clothes that had once stood in the way of them being completely intimate had been discarded quickly like a drunken stumble, the location meaning nothing to the two intoxicated teens acting upon their feelings rather than expressing it through words.

It's the feeling of ecstasy that overwhelms her when he sits back, pulling her into his lap. He's still buried inside her, his hand grasping her breast as the other grasped her hip to lead her. Her eyes close as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, a moan expressing the feeling of pleasure she feels. His lips messily leave kisses among her collarbone and neck, wanting nothing more to make his mark. He wanted everyone to know that she was his. There's no being courteous and saving her from the possibility of covering up the hickeys. 

He's coming close to his peak, she feels his movements quicken. It makes her want more, so she whines for it. Her nails dig into his skin as he leads. His thumb is working against her cłit, working to get her to her own peak. He knows he's just driving her insane, and he loves it. She's made him work for this, and it feels good. He just won't say those words. Besides, he still has a reputation to protect. 

"I ca-can-" she sputters out, before giving a silent cry as she reaches her climax. Her teeth clamping down on the skin of the eighteen year old she was straddling.

He promised her an empty floor after escaping the party, both shit-faced. She doesn't care. Moaning loudly on a usually occupied floor like this? Her voice would carry and the thought of her voice carrying made her sick to her stomach. Well, she didn't trust the privacy he promised her. 

He cums shortly after her, riding his climax. He’s no longer able to control his aggression. His fingernails dug into her hips; his teeth clamping down onto the skin of her collarbone. There's a metallic taste stinging his taste buds; then he knows that he has drawn blood. He pulls away from the tiny master piece on his lap and stares at her for a moment or two. That's when he presses a kiss to her lips; a well-deserved kiss that hopefully sent all the overwhelming feelings he felt for this girl.     

The morning comes all too soon. The sun wasn't fully up, but she awaken by the light blue peaking through his closed curtains. Her head lifts from the pillow, seeing if he was still there. He was, but he wasn't facing her. His back was to her, lightly snoring. And, the realization that she fell asleep before she could get to her own room is a hard blow. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were past that, and she knew that. There was no way of avoiding it, but it doesn't mean she won't try running away from whatever it was she was feeling for him. That thought only reminds her of who she used to be before he obnoxiously and aggressively stepped into her life - she wasn't the one who ran away. She avoided conflict.

She felt like she was betraying herself when she got out of the bed. The feeling makes her stomach crunch in embarrassment. Shit. Why did she want to fucking stay? They weren't a couple; she shouldn't have even slept over! She crept around his room, dressing in the discarded clothes from the night before. The light snoring stops just as she is about to take her first step out of his room.

They both pretend he's still asleep. 

It's only how it starts

The second time he's ambushed in the bathroom during a class. It's empty, expect for the snarky girl who had shoved this crude bastard, locking the door behind them. To be safer, she puts her hands on his chest to push him into a stall. The both of them barely fit. He's a big guy; the breadth of his shoulders take up most of the confined space. Thank the Gods for the petite girl, because if it weren't for her, well, they probably wouldn't be doing what they're doing. 

It seems to be serious when she grabs his t-shirt, pulling him down to her eye-level, her mouth to his ear. "Next time you grab my ass when I'm talking to Cementoss while you're passing, I'll kick your ass." she threaten half-heartedly and haughtily into his ear. 

Even if she was being serious, he wouldn't have taken her seriously. Not when she's pressed up against him, already having her hand in his pants. 

He doesn't reply to her; all he does is scoff. It's short lived, because as soon as he begins it, her fingers wrap around his dick and stroking him steadily. A smug grin appears across her lips as he writhes, fumbling to stabilize himself along the slick surface of the stalls. It’s infuriating. He wants to mark her. He wants her to feel him - to know she's his. He mostly wants to wipe that smug look off of her face. He  bares his teeth and snaps at her mouth to her lower lip between them. 

He cums in her hand, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he's sure he's bruised her through that skirt. He presses his lips against hers tenderly after he finishes his release. It seems so unlike him that she questions it almost immediately. It makes her want to rip away from him, yell at him this isn't what she wanted from him. But, she figured this is who he really is: thumb to her cheek, lips on hers, a bit of a superhero, a bit of a bleeding heart. She wants to hate it, but she can't. 

So, she's gone. She leaves before he has the chance to say anything, shoving out of the stall. She leaves before he even has the chance to reciprocate 

The next few weeks seem to go smoothly between the two. They walk together, sit together; she doesn’t piss him off that much. He even once kicked the back of her knees when she wasn’t looking, swiftly catching the girl in his arms, though, she hits and curses him for it. It always made him laugh. There was nothing more entertaining than watching her flustered with heated cheeks. 

People notice their “friendship” - as far as they knew. Unsurprisingly, people have little hope for them. She doesn’t fit into his life - the life of someone climbing to the number one position. He shouldn’t waste his time for the undecided girl. It seems like she’s the only one who realizes that. He should want a girl who has a high chance of achieving the things he wants, not a probable hero course dropout like her brother. She’s not worth the trouble of being a distraction. 

They skip lunches, escaping to the rooftop They don’t seem to mind spending so much time with together anymore; they used to be hesitant to even go anywhere alone together as if their presences bothered each other.  Most of the time, it doesn’t. 

 Most of the time he just drags her to the stairwell and fucks her against the wall or the stairs,  breaking the skin of her elbows in little cuts. Sometimes they make it up to the rooftop, and have their way there. He fucks her with his fingers, wanting to tease her and make her feel the way she makes him feel when she uses her hands. He fucks her with his tongue, his dick twitching his pants every time he hears his name escape her mouth. Both his fingers and tongue tease. One licking up and down her torso, as the middle and index of his fingers circle around her cłit. They do this until she's whining for it. 

There's something about the way she holds a book, or just fucking sits there in that stupid desk. The way her eyes focus on whatever she may be doing, always crossing her legs. There's something about the way she runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to moisten it. There's only so much a man can take. 

There's only so much a man can take when some douche bag in class b approaches her, this smile on his face and hope in his eyes. She may look uninterested, but that is exactly how she looked when they first met and look at them now. Nevertheless, this guy must have been talking about something she was interested in because the douche bag got her to give this smile - the one he earns. It cuts the deepest, because he knows he can't do anything. She's not his. She doesn't belong to anyone, and it frustrates him. But that frustration subsides when she walks away from this douche bag, her braid exposing the hickies he’s given her. 

She’s his. 

There's a better chance of their clothes thrown across the room, with him tangled between her legs and her nails clawing into his back. This was one of the times where they were clothed. He was laying on his bed on his stomach, with her sitting on his butt and legs in a criss-cross position. A notebook by his shoulders with another beside them, her eyes shift between them, scribbling down notes. 

"Fuckin' Cementoss." she cursed their teacher, copying down the notes as his eyes flutter open and closed. She shakes her head, her eyes flickering up at the back of his blonde-haired head. 

He's almost asleep, but when he doesn’t move, he feels the thud of a notebook hitting the back of his head. "Motherfuc-" he stops shouting mid-sentence, reaching behind him with the one arm that wasn't supporting his head to nudge her a little. “What’s your fucking problem, you fucking brat?"

The remark earns nothing more than a roll of her eyes as she leans forward, hovering over him as she snatches the pillow he's using, “I’m no brat, you’re the brat. Next time you call me that, I’ll beat you to a pulp." He’s rubbing off on her. It only makes him grin into his arm

"Cocksucker."

"Sadist." 

He wriggles around underneath her when she sits back on his ass, writing down something. She scoffs at him, placing her hands down on his bare-back. "I'm not going to sodomize you, Jesus." 

He snorts, "Just seems like the natural progression of things, you little brat.”

She rolls her eyes, tossing her things aside, bending her head and licks a stripe up his spine just to sink her teeth into the muscle at the base of his skull. He jerks underneath her, a loud curse is shouted. She looks down at him darkly, although he can't see. "Don't joke."

He opens his mouth to spit out a threat, but doesn’t say a thing, he's far too distracted by the way her fingers are gently messaging his scalp. He can't see, but she's studying the details of him. He's no secret to her. Sometimes she wishes that he knew that. She admires him; he didn't know that either. Soon he’s asleep, but she doesn’t mind.

A few days later she’s heading to her dorm. It's no surprise that she was with him. She has the red marks on her neck to prove it; the bruises on the soft skin of her thigh. She wasn't sure if this was what falling in love was. It frighten her that she had become this comfortable with a person before. It fucking scared her. She stops when she hears voices around the corner saying her name.

“Does she really think he actually likes her? It’s a little sad.” 

“Why would he be into someone who ranking so low?”

With that the Class B girls make their way down the hallway, leaving the girl speechless. She doesn’t say anything - it's not like she could anyway. How did they know? In school as far as anyone knew they were friends. Nothing more. Well, the people who assumed they were fucking were right, but nothing had ever been answered. They weren't romantically affection to each other in public - well, actually, he was hugged once. Other than that? Nothing. 

As she turned around and unlocked the door, she wiped some tears that escaped her eyes. Shit. She was crying? What was this? . As she packs an overnight bag with the intention of staying with her brother, she knows they are right. She didn't say anything to her brother once she goes through the front door, unannounced. She just walks past him, going straight to the guest bedroom room, slamming and locking the door, ignoring his voice. She exhaled, her lower lip quivering. 

He wasn't meant for her. No matter how much they enjoyed each other’s company or not. They were never going to end up together; no matter how much they tried. He was going to end up with someone who was worthy. Someone as smart as he was, ambitious. Their end was inevitable. Didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. She crawls into bed after getting rid of the clothing she's wearing.

It's almost an instinct when she pulls out her phone and dials his number. She's in bed, huddled against her pillow as the rings go on. 

“What do you want, little brat?” 

She didn't answer; she bites onto her lip, debating whether to say anything or just hang up. 

"You there, dumbass?” 

And, it's a final decision when she presses the end button to the call and closes her eyes.

He’s not meant for you anyway.

It's the little patter she hears that wakes her up hours later. She squeezes her eyes shut, expecting it to be her brother actually knocking on the door, but nothing comes. She realizes that it's coming from her window. The hell? She sits up, holding a hand to her forehead and sighs to herself. “It’ll stop” she thinks to herself as she lays back down. It's still going - the patter. Then she realizes what's going on. She rolls her eyes, getting out of bed. 

There he was in all his glory, standing there with pebbles in his hand, crimson eyes narrowed, face twisted in a scowl. 

"I am not your Juliet, jackass." she mutters before opening it to see the stupid teenager.  "Do you realize the time it is? Oh, and that we aren’t in a Nicholas Sparks melodrama? No? Well, you’re going to break curfew.”

Regardless of the time and how she feels, she lets him come inside after bickering. Though, her appearance isn't something he's ever seen before. A face clean of makeup, a over-sized sweater and sweats, her unruly hair up in a messy bun. She looks like a completely different person, but he says nothing. He steps into the apartment he's been to before. She ushers him to the bedroom, hoping that neither of them would wake up her brother. 

She closes the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want?" she asks, watching him. 

“What’s with the attitude, dumbass?” he questions, glaring. 

"You need to leave." she told him honestly, "I don't think we should do this anymore - whatever we're doing." 

He looks at her with a bored expression now, “Another tantrum, brat?” he drawls out, but then she moves to unlock and open her door to kick him out. “Alright, idiot, relax.” he stands up and goes to her, one hand closing her door and the other hand going to her waist, but she shrugs him off. 

Now he knows she's being serious. This isn't couldn't be good. This was destruction waiting to happen; he should have seen this coming. She stares off at the wall, arms crossed over her chest insecurely. He knows that look anywhere. Her eyebrows are furrowed and there are little wrinkles on her forehead; her lower lip being clenched by teeth. What was going through her mind at this point? 

“I’m not kidding. This is boring. I’m over it.”

“No one gets bored of me.” He grunts,, hands now in his pockets. “Where’s this shit coming from?” his question leaves her questioning herself even more. 

"You're not going to stay," the girl finally tells him after minutes of silence, staring at him with empty eyes. 

It's not even a minute that goes by when he has his lips on hers, cupping her face, expecting her to throw him off and yell at him to get out; they were done - what "they" were. She defies logic; she kisses him back, mouth opening under the pressure of his tongue, hand sliding down to pull him in. It's him that's backing them up, searching for the bed, and eventually make contact, landing on top of her and kissing her neck. Pinned once again, she doesn't care anymore. She's too lost into the kiss to care. She wants his mouth on her, so she pulls him away from her and captures it with her own, tongue thrusting it and out, twining it with his. She's moan, knee pushing up through his thigh's, rubbing hard against his dick. He rocks down, breathes heavy through his nose. 

She's blanketed in his weight, his warmth, the miles of smooth skin hiding below his clothes. She knows this body. She knows what his bare chest feels like under the flat of her palm. She knows the strength of his arms when wrapped around her, lifting her from the ground. She knows how he can go from a weapon to a lover in a instant. She's not ready to say goodbye, but it's better now than later. But it's much harder when he has his hands up her sweater, familiarizing itself 

"No," she whispers, pulling back from his lips, shaking her head in the slightest. "No, Katsuki."

He cups her face, thumb caressing her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, idiot.” he assures her.

“Oh my God, I am in a melodrama.”

#bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugo #bakugo angst #my hero academia

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In

Y'all, the quarantine hit hard. This fic is 100% self serving but I'm posting it in case it makes anyone else feel better? To add some spicy self loathing to my day? who knows. 

No legit pairings, a tiny bit of hinting angstiness, for the sake of form, Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: defs big warning for anxiety and depression. I don't think there's anything else? Lmk if there is and I'll edit this.

__________

“Snowed in?” you repeated, having just packed everything up and saddled both Roach and your horse Beau. 

Geralt nodded grimly, “We’ll just have to hope Jaskier hears of the weather before he tries to make it here. The mail carrier is refusing to ride the pass.”

You heaved your saddlebags down with a slightly over dramatic grunt before turning to face him, “Is it a passing storm or do they think it’s headed for us?”

He shrugged and began untacking Roach, “You’ll have to ask the innkeeper. I just heard from someone who was turned back.” 

You both finished putting the horses back in their stalls, throwing a little extra hay over the side in case you didn’t want to face the cold after dinner. The innkeeper looked frantic, attempting to deal with about five angry customers, so you headed for the connected tavern instead. In your experience, bartenders knew more scuttlebutt anyway. 

Surprisingly you two were the only ones in the bar. The pretty blonde poured the two of you a beer and slapped a loaf of bread down between you before you could utter a word of request. Something rather unusual since traveling with Geralt. 

“How long do you think this will last?” you asked, handing the woman a couple of gold coins. 

She shrugged, “Last year it was mild. Just a week I think? But the year before that the town was stuck for almost a month.”

“Hm- huh? What day is it?” you mumbled as Geralt shook you awake. 

“Twenty-three. Get up.” He ordered. The process had become routine. The two of you were stuck in a rather small room together due to overcrowding and you weren’t handling the idle time very well. 

Geralt seemed completely content to meditate by the fire and meticulously repair his armor for the rest of eternity. While you had quickly become catatonic. 

You sat up only because you knew he would lift you out of the bed completely if you didn’t do it yourself, “Ah yes, what a beautiful day to feed the horses and drink our weight in ale.” 

The sarcasm dripping from your voice only earned a stern look from your roommate. The inn had run out of the drinkable stuff last week and they were rationing little the piss water they had left.

You scratched at your hair, your hand recoiling at the feel of grease. There was nothing to do, the floor space between the bed and the fire was barely big enough for Geralt to sit cross-legged, let alone for you to do any sort of exercise to keep your mood up. Not that you would if you could anyway. Any motivation to keep some sort of normalcy had left your body around day ten. The innkeeper had let some guests spar in the lobby around day six but everyone scattered when you had attempted to join. Something about ‘the witcher’s girl’ and how ‘she might gut you out of habit’. People could be stupid, you weren’t a witcher any more than they were and even so, Geralt was calmer and more restrained than all of them combined.  

So, embracing the numbness, you stayed in bed well into the afternoon and long after Geralt had left his side of the bed.

“Did I miss breakfast again?” you asked, not making a move to get any farther from your warm blankets.

Geralt nodded, pointing to the small table near the door where some bread,  cheese, and dried meat sat waiting. 

You picked at it for his benefit, though you hadn’t really been hungry for a few days now. The storm raging outside was just about as strong as the one raging through your hollow insides. This inaction, the unknowing, the vulnerability was killing you. 

“Y/N, you need to eat more than the crumbs.” Geralt urged, moving to sit in the chair opposite to you. 

“I tried.” You sighed, “Can’t I just lay back down?”

He shook his head, “No. You’re letting this consume you. You’re tougher than this.”

You scowled at him, wanting to throw the bread in his face, “Fuck you. Nothing bothers you.”

“Your behavior is bothering me.” he countered, staring at you with a mix of worry and annoyance.

“Well isn’t that touching.” You sighed in mock flattery. Abandoning any idea of food, you got up to sit by the fire,  poking at it aggressively with an iron rod and making a point to face away from him. 

“What in the spheres is your problem?” He growled.

“Being stuck here with nothing to do?” you offered, your tone reminiscent of the young spoiled princess the two of you had saved from a wraith a few months back. 

“That’s not it. I know when you’re lying Y/N”

Your limbs felt like they might float away into the air if you didn’t curl up into a ball, “I don’t want to talk about it Geralt. I’m sorry for snapping. I just need a couple of minutes.”

“You’ve needed ‘a couple of minutes’ for the past two weeks. Time to talk.” he argued. 

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t tell me you’d been stabbed until right before you passed out in Temeria.”

“I’ve tried learning from my mistakes.” his tone was one of convincing the both of you, “What's bothering you? Really.”

“I don’t fucking know Geralt.” you hissed, getting very tired of his prying.

You heard him sit back and cross his arms, “Not good enough.”

You felt the words leave your throat before you could think of their meaning, spewing out with vitriol and fire, “I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of you telling me what to do. I’m tired of watching snow pile up out the damn window. I’m tired of the stupid couple that fucks all night next door. I’m tired of this worry that feels like it will rip me apart at any fucking moment from just not fucking knowing. I’m tired of worrying about Jaskier. I’m tired of worrying about the horses getting stocked up when there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m tired of the glares from the other guests. I’m tired of feeling powerless. I’m tired of having no decent outlet for this anxious energy I’m stuck with. I’m tired of not knowing when this feeling will go away. And I’m absolutely fucking exhausted by the thought that it’s only been twenty-fucking-three days yet I feel I’ve been trapped here for a god-damned-eternity.” 

The last sentence broke your resolve to stay angry. Upon pushing the last words from your lungs, you heaved a deep breath and let the sobs tear your chest apart, giving in to the hopelessness that had been building for weeks now. 

You heard a shuffling that registered in the back of your mind as Geralt sitting behind you, but even so, you flinched when a hand rested on your shoulders. He scooped one hand under your knees and pulled you onto his lap, pulling a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around the two of you. He let you sob until the sobs turned to whimpers.

“I didn’t realize, I’m sorry Y/N” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your hair, sending a flood of warmth to your cheeks.

“You don’t need to be.” you croaked, leaning into his affection.

“I didn’t need to pry either.” He argued.

You just hummed in reply, too much of your energy spent on purging your system of those hideous sobs. You did make a noise of protest when he lifted you from his lap and set you beside him on the floor. 

“Stay by the fire, I’ll be back.” He instructed, the tenderness of his voice surprising you. 

Minutes later, as you were beginning to pull yourself back together, he returned with a terry cloth robe and what smelled like fresh jasmine soap. Without a word, he hoisted you into his arms and carried you across the room to the bathroom. He set you on your feet and handed you the robe and soap before turning his attention to the lever pump hanging over the ceramic tub. 

“A bath?” You tried to bring your usual playful tone back to life and failed miserably.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

You shook your head, “I’m just…” slightly disoriented? you finished the sentence in your head, not sure how to phrase it.

“Not used to anyone accommodating your emotions.” he finished, a knowing look in his eyes reminding you just how much he knew of isolation and pain. 

As you nodded you had to mentally remind yourself you have to let people help you, that it’s okay to let people help you.

You didn’t bother waiting for him to leave before you peeled off your riding breeches. Melitele only knows how long you’d gone without changing them. You had more trouble unlacing the cinched waist blouse you’d been wearing the last four days. The restless tossing and turning you’d done instead of sleeping had it knotted four times over. When you’d finally rid yourself of every last thread the tub was full. 

Geralt traced a sign in the water, sending ripples over the surface and steam up in the air, “Shouldn’t be too hot, but test it first.” He mumbled, making an effort not to stare at you too long. 

It was rather hot but you had exposed yourself enough for one day. You took the hand he offered for balance and sank into the nearly scalding water without hesitation.

He knelt next to you, “If you wish to be alone-”

“No.” You interrupted, not having the courage to look up at him, “Please don’t go.” The words barely escaped your mouth, but Geralt heard them perfectly fine.

He wet a washcloth and lathered it with soap before handing it off to you. With the rest of the bar, he began washing your hair. At first, his hands were hesitant, as if he was afraid to hurt you. He paused when you gave up scrubbing the sweat and dirt from behind your knees, but only for a moment. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. His nails scratched at the base of your skull, coaxing a sigh from your lips. As he massaged the soap through the tangled mess he took his time with the tension in your temples, then the pressure points behind your ears, even working out the knots in your neck. You did your best not to moan, but a couple of gasps and pleased grunts may have slipped out.  He rested a hand between your shoulders and guided you back, dipping your hair into the water to rid it of the froth he’d created. 

You peeked up at him through your lashes. If he noticed he didn’t show it. His face was relaxed, almost serene, as he raked his fingers through your hair, gently tugging on the bigger tangles. You hadn’t ever taken the time to look at his eyes before, he seemed uncomfortable over them when you’d met so you left him alone about it. Looking at them now, you regretted it. They were a beautiful mix of honey, sunflowers, and glittering gold. And they were so kind. The idea that people spat at him when they recognized his eyes made your heart ache. 

With a slight nudge from him, you sat back up, all the tension in your body having melted in the hot water or under his touch. You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your arms across them and your chin on your arms. The events of the day had you feeling like a child who’d gone too long without a nap being soothed back to sleep. If you were being honest with yourself you missed the feeling of safety that came with someone taking care of you. 

Geralt brushed your favorite oils through your hair, doing his best not to pull through knots too roughly, but it was in the same bun for about four days. 

You let your tired mind wander as you watched snow fall out the small port window above the tub. The comb had failed to detect any knots in your hair for some time but it seemed Geralt was just as lost in thought as you.

Eventually the water grew cold and you had to accept this couldn’t go on forever. 

“I think I might need to get out soon.” you mumbled, inspecting your pruney fingers. Everything in you was telling you to stay. Stay in this safe place with your gentle guardian. But you knew if you didn’t get out soon you’d never warm up, fire or not. Not to mention you knew you were taking Geralt’s actions more to heart than they were meant. He simply felt guilty for pushing you too far. 

That didn’t mean you wanted him gone though. You were more than happy to live the lie for a little while longer.

"I'll go check the horses." He offered, placing a towel and the robe within your reach. 

"Thank you, Geralt. For not… I don't know? Laughing at me?" You refused to look at him, being vulnerable enough as you already were. 

"Y/N…" he said your name like it meant something but you couldn't figure out what, "You never have to thank me. I owe you so much more than a hot bath and kind words." 

You turned your head to argue but when you saw his expression the words died on your tongue. All you could offer in response was a small smile.

It seemed to be enough for him and he nodded before disappearing through the door, leaving you to ponder what he'd meant. 

_________

Part 2 here!

#plz hit me with the feedback! even if it's just a hobby I always want to get better #geralt of rivia oneshot #geralt of rivia #geralt one shot #geralt x reader #can we consider this soft!geralt #the witcher #geralt comfort fic #the witcher netflix #the witcher novels #the witcher one shot #comfort fic #geralt of rivia comfort fic #the witcher fan fic #did i intend for this to simply be comforting and dancing on the edge of feelings territory? yes #did i expect to be very motivated to follow it up with some smutt? no #will i? #we'll see. #I've got shit loads of free time bc of the 'rona #and I'm house sitting so like no interruptions?

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Tales of Miss Fortune

It’s been awhile since you’ve heard a certain red devil callin’ but you soon find yourself fighting alongside Dante when trouble comes a knockin’. 

Here’s the rootin’ tootin’ spooky treat I’ve been promising for weeks! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain, y’all! 🌹🤠🌹

Rated Explicit for: Vampire and DT Smut, Blood Drinking, and the usual violent demonic fighting with the addition of vampiric dusting. 

Chapter 1: Fallin’ for a Gun Street Girl

Some people believe that there’s life after death while others say it’s just an underwhelming ending. You used to think the latter until experiencing the cold embrace of death for yourself. Now, you know that there’s a way to live a life after death…just not in the way that most folks tend to envision, such as spending an eternity in heavenly paradise or burning in hell.

Death truly is a cruel mistress to the living, but to vampires such as yourself…let’s just say that you and death have been bedfellows for well over a century now.

And you would think that someone would change after being dead for as long as you have, and yet here you are…still hanging out at rowdy bars, observing small groups of people gathered around various tables from your usual spot in the corner. It feels like any other normal night; the cackling of drunk patrons and clinking of numerous bottles is like music to your ears. But you feel like there’s something missing…and you finally figure out what it is after catching yourself looking up with every swing of the front entrance for the past hour.

Dante is a no show…again.

Your eyes glance down at the empty chair sitting right next to you, wondering if he’s been busy since the last time you saw him or just plain avoiding you altogether. Neither of you made any plans to hook up after that night in his shop, so you aren’t really surprised by the lack of interest. Afterall, the Legendary Devil Hunter has better things to do than to hang around a dead woman…at least, that’s what you tell yourself while pushing him out of your thoughts.

But you quickly find that it’s easier said than done as your eyes dart towards the pool tables, shivering at the memory of your own game of strip pool with him. It was one of the most fun nights of your undead life…hell, you can’t even remember a time where you were that happy when you were alive! But you know that getting attached to mortals usually invites trouble, and you don’t want to be a burden for an exceptional mortal like the Son of Sparda himself.

I’m bettin’ it was just a one-time thing anyway, you surmise, tearing your eyes away from the pool table while kicking your feet up on the table. He’s probably found someone alive and a lot prettier than-

The sudden screams of terror just outside the bar brings your thought to screeching halt. The few patrons who aren’t shit faced drunk immediately notice the commotion before bolting towards the exit. You tip your hat up and tilt your head with interest, listening to the inhuman shrieks that ring out like a hellish choir while everyone else starts panicking. It only takes a few more seconds and a couple more guttural growls before everybody gets wise enough in their drunken stupor to start rushing out.

Almost all of the drunkards are gone when the front windows explode in spray of glass. A horde of demons come barreling through and instantly set their malevolent sights on the stragglers, raising their jagged blades and claws high in the air before moving in for the kill. But you prove to be a lot quicker on the draw with your guns as you shoot each demon in speedy succession, distracting them long enough for the rest of the patrons to get away and live for another day.

“Hoo wee!” you yowl as the horde turns their attention towards you still sitting in the corner with your legs propped up on the table. “I’ve never got a good look at you demons before…y’all look like the hindquarters of bad luck!” you admit with a small shrug while the ugly sons of bitches start closing in on you. “But that’s alright…” You kick your feet off of the table before using some of your vampiric strength to fling it towards the center of the group, knocking a few demons down with a splintering crack.

“Cos yer about to meet Miss Fortune herself!” you boast, cocking both of your guns before raising them up in a challenge.

The demons hiss and spit like a herd of angry cats while spreading out through the bar, ignoring the obvious gap you’ve created with the table. You’ve never tangled with fiendish entities before, but this tells you that these demons aren’t the brightest crayons in the box. Your lips curl into a cocky grin as you aim your trusty guns towards the first casualties of this hellish brawl.

“C’mon now! It ain’t good manners to keep a lady waitin’!”

Your final taunt pushes them to pounce at once, giving you an opening to dash through the gap you made in a blink of an eye. You run past the broken remains of the table before turning around and taking aim, boosting your speed with blood while taking the first of many more shots. Misery and Woe were custom made to handle supernatural entities, and it seems they do just fine on demonic threats judging by the guttural screams of pain. All of them drop dead one after the other in a satisfying spray of blood within seconds, standing no chance against your heightened sense of accuracy and deadly aim.

“Huh…well, that was easy,” you quietly quip while reloading your guns.

Another round of demonic howls echo just outside the now thoroughly trashed and bullet ridden bar. Your keen sense of hearing detects the rustling of fighting and some gunshots among the ruckus. Something deep down in your gut knows who it is that’s letting loose on them demons…and you can’t help feeling a little excited at the thought of seeing him again.

You quickly make your way outside, breaking the front door off its hinges as you zoom out of the bar. The familiar scent of blood greets your nose as you scan the numerous bodies of dead demons on the street. Your eyes shift from side to side, scanning the area for any sign of who may be responsible for this onslaught of pure and utter chaos.

“Howdy, Darlin’.”

Your instincts kick in as you swing around and point your guns at the devil of your desire. His cheeky smirk widens as he casually approaches, bringing back memories of the pool game you’ve been trying to forget for both of your sakes. You slowly lower your arms while shaking your head in disbelief before flashing him with a confident grin.

“Well, well…look who finally decided to grace me with his devilish presence!” you exclaim with just a hint of sarcasm. “It only took a horde of demons and some gunfire to summon ya, but now that you’re here…” You pause when more demonic screeches echo in the distance, turning your head to glance over your shoulder at the oncoming wave of demons before looking back at him with a toothy grin.

“Wanna have some fun, Cowboy?”

Dante chuckles as he stands next to you. “With you…always,” he replies with a flirty wink before brandishing a huge sword from out of nowhere.

Your heart would be fluttering at his words if it were still beating, but there’s no time to dwell on these cumbersome emotions with imminent danger around the corner. You tip your hat to him before raising your guns just as more demons come running down the street. Both of you keep your ground to the very last second until springing into action.

Dante sprints towards the oncoming horde while you hang back and spray them with a hail of bullets. You admire the sheer power behind every stroke of his blade from afar, yearning to feel his robust arms around you again while shooting down more and more demons. C’mon now…this ain’t no time to be droolin’ like a waterfall, you mentally berate yourself before honing all of your focus on the task at hand. It only takes a few minutes for both of you to mow down the majority of demons before he brings up the obvious with his laid-back yet direct flair.

“So, I uh…haven’t seen ya since that night at my shop.”

Your face falls flat as you lower your guns. “Really, Dante? You wanna get into it right now?”

“Seems as good as any other time,” he retorts with a shrug before cutting down the last demon left standing with a broad sweep of his sword.

“And I suppose you’ve been avoiding my usual haunt since then for no particular reason either, hmm?” you ask while gesturing towards the bar with your head before raising a brow at him.

“I’ve been busy with a couple jobs lately,” he explains, resting his sword on his shoulder while walking up to you. “And besides, you know where I live,” he points out with a nod of his head as he stands right in front of you. “I even left ya an open invitation so that you can freely enter the shop whenever you want, Darlin’.”

His striking blue eyes glow in the moonlight as he scans your face, longing to see them spark with desire again. Your head starts spinning as the scent of gunpowder and leather mixed with a little blood wafts under your nose. You want to tell him that you miss his rousing company, his rowdy laughter, his searing hot kisses…but your keen ears pick up the rustle of fast approaching steps just behind him.

You quickly step to the side and take aim before firing at the pissed off demon. He whips around with Ebony and Ivory at the ready, but you beat him to punch as the demon falls dead on the ground. “Ooh! Better luck next time, Cowboy,” you crow with a playful smirk while holstering your guns.

Dante lets out a soft bark of laughter while shaking his head. “Next time, huh? I really like the sound of that.”

You chuckle and bite your lower lip as your hunger for him begins to stir. “Me too. It’s just…I got the impression that you didn’t wanna…what I mean to say is-”

“It’s not customary for our kind to engage in such barbaric relations with mortals.”

Both of you swing around towards the source of the phantom response, guns pointed down a dark alleyway. You glare at a pair of vampires walking out of the shadows before fanning out as eight more reveal themselves while swiftly surrounding you. One of them tilts his head as he inspects Dante with a critical eye. Your heightened senses tell you that he must be the leader since his blood is the most potent out of all of them.

“But I suppose a hybrid such as yourself would be an exception.”

Dante chuckles softly. “Looks like we got some party crashers,” he casually comments while turning so that both of your backs are pressed together.

All of the vampires quietly laugh as their daunting stares pin both of you down like a pack of ravenous wolves. You glance down at the bloody street, noting that this is the first time you’ve encountered your own kind around these parts…which is odd since that’s exactly why you hangout around here to begin with. But now you can’t swing a damn lasso without roping one on the very same night of a random demon attack!

The more you think about it…the more it reeks of something fishy.

“All this your handy work, I presume?” you inquire, motioning to the carnage all around you with a flick of your wrists.  

The lead vampire smiles and turns to you. “In a manner of speaking…we simply pointed out that an infamous devil hunter frequents this very lively bar.”

Your eyes narrow at the implication of his words. “An ambush, huh?” You turn your head and meet Dante’s befuddled gaze. “Who’d you piss off this time?”

“Hell if I know,” he mutters while shrugging his shoulders.

You chortle at his carefree attitude and ready yourself for the challenging fight ahead. Dante turns and addresses the lead vampire with his disarming smirk. “We’re kinda in the middle of something, so if you could just-”

The vampire closest to the leader interrupts by loudly humming in delight. “No wonder our mistress sent us to collect such a delectable prize.”

Dante ignores the obvious attempt at flirtatious intimidation. “Well, I’m real flattered and all, but-”

“HE’S MINE!”

Your feral growl grabs everybody’s attention as you make a show of flashing your fangs, warning everyone to back off before things get messy. “Ooooh! Looks like this one’s already been claimed,” another vampire chimes in before letting out a baleful cackle.  

“And here I thought we could talk this out like civilized kin,” the leader laments with a shake of his head.  

The lustful vampire laughs before inflaming your possessive fury by sauntering up closer. “Such a shame that someone as old and infamous as you would be meeting her Final Death over-”

It only takes one explosive round from Misery aimed straight at their mouth to shut them the fuck up. The redolent air instantly becomes hostile as that vampire crumples down on the street, helplessly twitching while the remaining vampires snarl and hiss with outrage. Dante summons his sword and crouches down into a ready stance while you cock your other gun.

“I ain’t one to repeat myself but lemme make it very fuckin’ clear for y’all,” you begin, slowly raising Woe at the first vampiric casualty of this unfortunate encounter. “If any of you worthless ticks so much as touch a white hair on his head…” You aim and pull the trigger, reducing them to a pile of smoldering ashes with the force of your second shot.

“I’ll have ya begging for mercy before sprinkling yer ashes all over this goddamn street.”

And with that one final warning, the leader raises a hand and signals the rest of his cohorts to attack. Dante springs into action while you stand your ground, waiting until they get close enough until the very last second. You turn into mist just as one vampire raises a hand to swipe at you with their vicious claws, sifting through their bodies and reforming right behind them.

The barrels of Misery and Woe glisten in the pale moonlight as you let loose a barrage of bullets at inhuman speed. Two more vampires turn into dust while another clutches the back of their wounded head as they drop to the ground. You reload your guns as quick as a flash and take aim to finish the job, but the only survivor of your sly tactic zooms by and slashes your shoulder.

You snarl as sharp pain shoots down your arm, distracting you from weaker prey and focusing your attention on the asshole who ruined your favorite leather jacket. This vampire is almost as fast as you, swinging his clawed fists with precision towards the few vital points of your body. But you prove to be not only faster but wilier as well, dodging every single one of his blows while leading him towards some burning debris in the street.

You feint to left before shifting right as soon as they’re close to the flames, purposely letting him puncture your shoulder while using a large portion of blood to boost your strength. Your jaw clenches tight, holding back your yelp of pain as he growls victoriously at their measly accomplishment. But the joke’s really on him as you holster one of your guns before extending your nails into razor sharp claws.

Your lips curl into a devious grin. “You must be feeling pretty lucky right about now,” you note, making sure he meets your unwavering gaze. “But lemme fill ya in on a little secret…”

You swiftly jab your hand up straight towards his chest, long claws striking true with their target as they pierce his lifeless heart. His face contorts with agonizing shock as you twist your wrist, burrowing deeper until the tip of your claws stab through his back. You easily lift him up off the ground before turning around towards the blazing fire.

“No one’s lucky so long as Miss Fortune’s in town.”  

You hurl him straight into the fire with one strong thrust, dislodging your claws from his chest before pulling your hat down in front of your eyes while turning away. The hot flash of flames lights up the night while tormented screams echo down the street, sending chills down your spine as you struggle to remain in control. Your feet move of their own accord away from the flaring threat, instinctually knowing that your quarry has met his Final Death.  

Your eyes zero in on your previous prey limping away from the fray. You dash right up them and stomp your foot on their back, keeping them still as you carefully aim for the killing shot. Your finger slowly squeezes the trigger, relishing in their pitiful plea for mercy before ending their miserable undead life. But you don’t have long to delight in the bloodbath as Dante’s harsh grunt meets your ears, bringing your attention back over to his side of the fight.

Multiple piles of ash now litter the street alongside demon corpses. Dante is engaged with the only vampire left, which happens to be the leader himself. You get ready for a real challenge by reloading your guns with explosive bullets, but all logical thought flies out the window when you witness this leech attempting to…bite…and feed…

Something in the darkest recesses of your mind snaps and you suddenly find yourself using more blood to boost your speed before hurtling towards the object of your ire. The leader senses your approach and tries to act accordingly, but Dante seizes the chance to turn around and swing his sword at him. The blade cuts a deep gash across the leader’s neck and a thick spray of blood spatters across Dante’s face as you close in on your target.  

“If a man is the sum of his misfortunes…” You stop just short of running into him and swiftly shove both barrels of Misery and Woe into his gaping mouth. “Then you’re one unlucky sonuvabitch,” you finish, enjoying the fear in his eyes as you pull both triggers.

You let out a satisfied growl as his undead brain gets blown to bits, smirking as his blood splatters across your face. He falls to his knees but the bastard refuses to meet his Final Death, still swiping his clawed hands around clumsily. But Dante swoops in and lops off his head with a single sweep of his sword before you can take aim with your guns.

The leader’s body crumbles to ash, leaving just the two of you in a sea of dusty carnage. You look at your devilish lover just as he turns his gaze towards you; both of you are covered in blood and still buzzing from the battle. Your keen hearing picks up his rapid breathing and heartbeat, which only stokes your flickering hunger into a blazing inferno.

“Dante,” you purr sensually while holstering your guns.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs hoarsely before stalking over to you.  

You meet him halfway before both of you just pounce on each other. Dante wraps his arms around your waist while your hands encircle his neck before both of your lips crash down and meet in a desperately heady kiss. You moan as he slips his tongue past your fangs while the scent of leather and gunpowder drives you wild. Finally seeing him fight and absolutely covered in gore pushes you to indulge in what you’ve been secretly missing since that night at the shop.

And it seems Dante agrees since his hands grope your ass and urge you to jump into his embrace. You oblige and hop into arms, wrapping your legs around his waist while nibbling on his lower lip with your fangs. He groans softly and tears his mouth from your starving lips before turning his face away, baring his neck to you as he treks back towards the bar. Your predatory gaze hones in on the pulsating vein being kindly offered, swiftly leaning in and scraping your fangs against his skin before sinking in for a luscious feast.

Dante grunts at your bite but his hurried pace never slows as he arrives at the entrance of the bar. He steps over the broken door and heads to the closet surface that isn’t totally ripped to shreds: the fucking pool table. But you don’t even care to comment with wry quip with his deliciously smooth blood trickling down your throat…he could’ve fucked you right then and there on the street and you wouldn’t have cared so long as his crimson nectar was on your tongue.

You suck a few more greedy mouthfuls as he sets you down, taking note of his strategic position of facing the entrance before tearing away from his neck. He instantly captures your bloody red lips with his hungry mouth, swirling his tongue around your fangs as he clutches you tight against his body. You feel the pin prick of claws press against your hips before he tears your jeans along with your panties, shredding them off until you’re only wearing your cowboy boots below your waist.    

Your heightened sense of hearing catches the sound of approaching trouble a few meters outside of the bar. Dante notices too as he tears away from your lips and tilts his head towards the sound of approaching adversaries. His lips curl into a cheeky grin as he kneels down between your legs while reaching behind his back.

“Do me a favor and shoot down whatever comes our way while I take care of business down here,” he requests, brandishing both of his guns with a twirl before handing them over.

You take the guns just as a couple of demons come hurling through the shattered windows. “Sure thing, Cowboy,” you comply with a wicked grin.

Your hands swivel around and take aim while Dante dives in between in your legs, licking and sucking your wet cunt as you fire rapid shots at the encroaching demons. You gasp and moan between shots as he finds just the right spot, flicking and twirling his tongue while his nose rubs your clit in the most maddening way. This causes you to miss a few shots due to the delectable distraction down below, swearing up a storm with every errand bullet.

Dante silently chuckles at every curse word that flies from your mouth. “What’s the matter?” he pipes up between lavish licks, gazing up at you with a mischievous red gleam in his eyes. “I thought an infamous pistolero like yourself wouldn’t be so easily distracted!”

You hiss at his playful jeer while shooting down a demon that got really close to the pool table. “Less talkin’ and more lickin’, Cowboy,” you quip back, deciding that you would have better luck with your aim by switching positions. You clench your thighs around his head and swiftly turn your body around until you’re riding his face.

“Mmm, you’re gonna meet the devil at this rate, Darlin’,” he murmurs against your slit, nipping and sucking your folds before his tongue strokes even deeper inside you.

You feel like you’re floating away while shooting down the remainder of the demonic wave, twitching in pleasure until finally coming on his scruffy face with an ecstatic moan as you fully give into his devilish tongue. He greedily suckles every pulse of your cunt, slurping every drop of your pleasure as you fall against the soft green surface of the pool table. An intense heat emanates from his mouth as he slowly pulls away from in between your thighs, and you look over your shoulder to see a most wondrous and intimidating sight.  

A true devil with smoldering red scales and spikey plating is standing behind you, smirking with familiar lips while glowing red eyes roam your prone body. You’ve only heard rumors about his demonic form but to see it for yourself is truly astonishing…and incredibly arousing. You lift yourself up from the pool table with a soft grunt and shuck off your long leather jacket before leaning back down, making a show of spreading your legs nice and wide.

His gravelly growl sends pleasant tingles down your spine as you give him a good view of your ass and sopping wet cunt. You peek over your shoulder and flash him a naughty grin. “C’mon, Cowboy,” you purr while wiggling your hips provocatively. “Show me how a real devil rides in the rodeo.”

Dante chuckles huskily while grabbing your hips with his clawed hands. “Are ya ready, Darlin’?” he asks gruffly, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you up towards his crimson chest before pressing his lips close to your ear. “Cos I’m gonna have you screaming my name all night.”

You gasp as an unfamiliar length slides in between your slick thighs, surprising you with its unusual yet tantalizing texture. Your eyes glance down and catch a glimpse of his member as it glides against your slick slit, noting its reddish black color and thick ridges all around the shaft. You whimper at the thought of his devilish cock slipping inside you, stretching you out while filling you up to the brim…just the feel of it has your thighs clenching around him with anticipation.    

Sharp fangs nibbling on your ear breaks you out of your carnal daze. You thrust your hips back against him while reaching back to grab one of the long spikes protruding from his head. Another fiendish growl makes your body quiver as he turns your head to capture your lips with a searing hot kiss. He gently guides you to bend over the pool table, never breaking away from your wanton mouth while adjusting himself between your legs.

Dante slowly slides every inch of his ribbed cock inside you, pulling a pleased moan from your throat as his tongue licks one of your elongated fangs. You softly whine as he finally bottoms out, silently begging him to give you a taste before the imminent display of shameless debauchery. One corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk as he cuts the flat of tongue against your fang. You revel in the thick smokiness of his blood while his clawed hands rip your buttoned shirt open and slice your cotton bra between the cups before groping your breasts.

You ready yourself for one helluva ride…but both of you break away from each other’s lips as the clamor of more approaching demons meet your keen ears. Dante lets out an irritable growl while you reach for his guns still lying out on the pool table. You flip them around in a flashy fashion before presenting them with flourish above your head.                

“I believe it’s your turn to do the shootin’, Cowboy.”      

A sudden blast of blistering heat hits your back, almost blowing your gambler hat off as he gives your breasts one last squeeze before withdrawing with a teasing scrape across your nipples. He takes his trusty weapons from your grasp and points Ebony towards the entrance while resting Ivory just above your navel as he wraps his arm around your waist. You would be holding your breath if you still had the ability to breathe as he waits for trouble to come knocking, staying completely still until the very last moment…

Dante slowly pulls out, leaving only the tip inside you while the first wave of demons come crawling through the broken windows. Then, he slams his hips back against you with a sharp slap as he fires the first of many shots. You moan unabashedly as he sets a steady pace, pounding into you with brutal force while shooting down a stream of demons. It doesn’t take you long to reach your peak again, coming from the new sensation of his devilish cock while a barrage of bullets whiz through demonic skulls.

Your body falls limp against the pool table as Dante swings Ivory towards the back of the bar. He fires a rapid hail of bullets as more demons come through the back entrance while keeping his ruthless pace. The metallic ring of bullet casings bouncing off the hardwood floor keeps the insatiable flame of your desire burning as your hunger demands more blood and more pleasure.

You lift one of your legs up onto the pool table, resting your knee against the edge while propping yourself up on your arms. Then, you thrust your hips back to meet every hard pump of his cock, keening with every brush against your sweet spot as he buries himself even deeper inside you. Your ears pick up some faint cursing as some of his shots fly by a few encroaching targets.  

“What’s the matter?” you ask as he points Ebony towards the demons. “I thought an infamous devil hunter like yourself wouldn’t be so easily distracted,” you taunt, mirroring his exact words from earlier while looking over your shoulder and meeting his smoldering gaze.

Dante growls and quickly disposes of the remaining demons, wrapping both arms around you as soon as the last one disintegrates with a pitiful shriek. He pulls you up until your back meets his glowing red chest and picks up the pace, scaly hips slapping against your ass while his warm grunts puff against your cool skin. The slide of Ivory presses against your breast while the barrel of Ebony rests above the apex of your thighs, rubbing your clit with every hard thrust as he nuzzles the back of your head. You groan as intense pleasure starts to build up again, making you mumble incoherently while holding onto his arms with your bruising grip.                    

You tilt your head and bare your neck, hoping that he sees the invitation to partake of you. The exhilarating feel of sharp fangs nipping and grazing along the soft flesh you’ve exposed lets you know that he got the message. His guttural purr sends tiny tremors of delight throughout your body, making you ache for his bite as you rush towards rapturous release.

Dante drags his demonic tongue against your neck before sinking his fiendish fangs into your supple flesh. His name bursts from your lips as you tumble over the edge again, body shaking in his fervid embrace as he takes a couple swigs of your blood. “Mmm…fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you,” he groans against your neck, relentlessly thrusting through your orgasm and smacking his lips before going back for more.

The rustle of something unfurling knocks you out of the hazy aftershocks of your mind-numbing orgasm. You glance over your shoulder just as Dante spreads his demonic wings out wide. Their swirly red patterns hypnotizes you, pulsing with his heartbeat while gradually glowing brighter as he chases his own pleasure. You moan at the impressive display of power while leaning down against the pool table, silently encouraging him to fuck you with wild abandon by thrusting your ass back with enthusiastic fervor.

Dante drops both of his guns on the pool table and grips your hips with his wickedly sharp claws. His booming growl sends darts of pleasure straight down through your cunt as he pounds into you with renewed vigor. Your enraptured moans mingle with his gravelly growls as both of you come careening over the edge together among the blood and gore. You scream his name over and over while he cums in great spurts, slicking your cunt with his white-hot seed as the lewd squelching from his frenzied thrusts echo throughout the ruined bar.    

Both of you ride the pleasurable wave, gasping and writhing against each other to the very end. You collapse against the pool table while Dante leans over and rests atop your back, warming the crook of your neck with his panting breath. Your thighs twitch as his cum drips out from your sated sex, making you feel some carnal satisfaction deep within the primal recesses of your mind.

You let out a blissful sigh while leaning back to nuzzle his spiky head, softly purring as his warm lips press numerous kisses against your neck. You bask in this tender moment, giving into this feel of emotional closeness before the inevitable parting of your ways. But you don’t have time to dwell on that bittersweet notion as the familiar sense of dawn approaching washes over you.

Your entire being instantly reacts to the slow ascension of the sun, quaking in fear while wriggling out of the warm embrace of your devilish lover. “Whoa! Easy there,” he coos as you reach for your long leather jacket. “What’s the hurry, Darlin’?”

“The sun…I can feel it rising,” you explain, quickly slipping both of your arms through your jacket before buttoning it up. “I gotta go…but I dunno if I can make it to my sanctuary before…” you trail off, trembling at the thought of meeting your Final Death under the rays of the morning sun.

“You can stay at the shop if you want.”

His nonchalant offer gives you pause as your head snaps over your shoulder, noting that he’s reverted back to his human form. You think it over for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of taking him up on his gracious offer. “If you have a dark basement…or a way to block all sunlight from entering a vacant room,” you suggest, desperately hoping that he really means it since his place is a lot closer than the crypt that serves as your temporary home at the local cemetery.

Dante cups your face with both of his hands. “I won’t let anything happen to you during the day,” he swears while meeting your frantic gaze.

You stare into his striking blue eyes, searching for the slightest hint of deception among their depths…but the genuine gleam within his unwavering stare eases your worried mind. Your lips curve into a grateful smile while clasping his arm with one hand before tipping your hat in appreciation. “Then you better ride like the wind, Cowboy,” you murmur, swiftly bringing your face closer by raising yourself up on your tippy toes.

“Don’t wanna end up as a pile of ash before giving ya hell for ruining my one good pair of jeans,” you softly tease while nipping at his lips with your fangs.  

His breathy chuckle brushes against your face. “Didn’t hear ya complaining at the time…too busy having a drink on me,” he teases right back before capturing your lips with a scorching kiss, making you moan softly while both of your tongues gently glide across each other.

Your insatiable hunger starts to stir once more, but the nagging urge to seek shelter from the rising sun wrangles it back as you break away from his lips with a rueful sigh. Dante smirks knowingly as he reaches for his guns on the pool table, holstering them behind his back before leading you out of the destroyed bar. He summons Cavaliere while you hiss and turn away from the flashing light of false dawn.

“C’mon, Darlin’,” he murmurs, gently guiding you towards his fiendish ride.

You hop on and make yourself comfortable while he swings one leg over and sits down behind you. “Better hurry…I’m already…” you mumble, barely able to keep your eyes open while fighting off the familiar feel of falling into torpor.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry ya into the shop and protect you during the day,” he whispers by your ear, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand revs the engine.    

“Promise?”

“You have my word, Darlin’.”

Dante puts the pedal to metal with those final words of assurance, zooming down the street at breakneck speed towards the shop. Your lips curl into a fond smile as you do your best to hold on during the ride while fighting off the need to rest. But you know that’s a fool’s errand, so you close your eyes and leave yourself in the capable hands of your remarkable devil.

And as you finally succumb to the lull of torpor, you remind yourself that getting attached to Dante will only invite more trouble down the road…but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I’d like to thank @bettybattaglia for her wonderful suggestion about missing gun shots! And I gotta give a shout out to @varen-neoraven for beta reading for me!

Tagging: @drusoona @exsultry @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @leviathan-dee

#dante #dante x reader #devil may cry #dmc #cowgirl vampire reader #Tales of Miss Fortune #Fallin' for a Gun Street Girl #back in the saddle and ready to ride! #YEEHAW! 🌹🤠🌹 #harlot writes

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 10: The Midnight Duel

The purple light from a fading sun gave every burnished piece of gold the effect of being on fire. Trophies, awards, medals, and several plaques all kept a highly polished look about them and stuck to their walls to the exact degree they'd been placed on even as a crash erupted and slightly shook the glass casings.

"That's it, new rule!" Sirius growled as he unstuck his face from a glittering cup boasting of some long ago Transfiguration award. "If you get close to the end of the chapter, you have to warn the rest of us!"

"Seconded," James groaned, having landed in the cradle of a statue, and sure he'd have a bruise for it later.

"Err, I'll agree with whoever gets me down," Alice squeaked from atop the tallest case of a life sized trophy of the school's first, and last, troll wrestler, except someone had the brilliant idea to have the prize be the size of the opponent rather than the student. The misting reflection from her breathing on the face of the bronze statue wasn't leading her to the confidence of getting herself down, considering she feared if she moved a finger to grab her wand she'd topple right off.

Frank tried to instantly jump forward and help, but in his haste hadn't taken note he'd landed on a precariously shaped hourglass award and knocked it over as well as himself, creating a domino effect that ended with the one she was on anyways. Thankfully her perch didn't so much as shiver even with the others now leaning against it. Still unbroken, the leaning cases now resembled an odd staircase.

She shrugged, taking this in stride by edging to that side of the lopsided head and now awkwardly shimming herself down each level, testing her weight before trying the next so as not to further upset anything, and finally making it onto level ground and patting Frank on the shoulder as he got to his feet with a blush.

"Well then," James sighed as he got to the floor and pulled the book out of a display of a dozen other books...leading him to ignore the question of who won a book as an award? "Now that that's settled," he only cast one more look around to make sure everyone was present as he started, rolling his eyes at Sirius now checking his reflection to make sure his hair was still evenly parted from his fall.

He had to hold the book just slightly awkwardly from his hand that still didn't enjoy anything being brushed against it, but was instantly pulled in by the chapter title alone. This was easily going to be the most interesting thing Harry would be doing yet, a duel! He found quickly this to be his favorite chapter just from listening to Harry explore their world even more through so much talk of Quidditch.

"That Malfoy," Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed at him. "As if he even knows what a helicopter is, let alone bragging about getting away from one."

Lily looked at him in complete disbelief, which only doubled when his friends nodded along in agreement. It had been maddening enough listening to Dudley do all that to Harry and their mutters about that, but she really couldn't believe they couldn't see the hypocrites they were being now.

Torn between continuing to ignore their presence, especially in light of the last chapter, and giving them such a piece of her mind they wouldn't have any of their own left, she was grateful when Alice gaped open mouthed at them for a moment before bursting out laughing and turning to Frank, "you ever seen a bigger lot of idiots?"

"Not in all of my years," Frank agreed as he browsed further away from them, pretending to admire some Special Awards to the School given to a student rather than keep staring at such imbeciles.

Sirius spluttered with indignity, Remus and Peter exchanged a look and chose to say nothing, while James rolled his eyes without remorse and kept going, he wasn't going to defend himself to two people he'd never really spoken to, instead he just gave an anxious look at Evans and didn't want to linger on the subject.

It didn't help that the more Malfoy continued to antagonize Neville, the more filthy looks she shot him, as if picturing his messy black hair instead of the sleek blond. When the Remembrall was stolen for a second time and all Malfoy did was laugh as the poor kid was taken away for a broken wrist, James couldn't help but snap at her scoff of disgust, green eyes still lingering on him, and not because he'd been the one to say it.

"Honestly Evans, you really think so low of me? I've never nicked someone else's stuff, certainly not laughed when they were injured!"

"No, but you certainly cause plenty of the injuries," she refused to give in.

"This could go on for a while," Sirius sighed as he wandered over next to Remus, who'd gone over to look at some Defense Against the Dark Arts awards.

Remus agreed noncommittally, he was watching Alice Smith and Frank Longbottom. They were holding hands and whispering to each other, and he found it sweet how clearly worried they were for a kid sharing Frank's last name, whereas James and Evans were bickering loudly over Harry surely about to do the same thing as he mounted his own broom for the first time in chase of a much better flyer.

Peter was watching the bickering pair eagerly, looking at any second about to jump in and save James, though as he'd never actually stepped in between any of their fights neither of them were sure why he kept bothering.

That was all the looking Sirius did before he leaned in to Remus and muttered, "bored yet?"

Remus gave him a sideways look, glanced around at the spacious room that had a few darker alcoves, and shrugged before walking as if checking to see that both doors to this room were locked as well. Obviously he didn't want to go right past the two sparring, so he should check the one around the corner first.

Sirius followed with a curious smirk in place, only a step behind as he turned the same corner, but still wasn't expecting to be seized and pinned to the wall. Remus was still being gentle, holding his shoulders as their lips met, as if still politely asking if this was okay to be doing while not exactly waiting for permission to do it while keeping Sirius pinned. Sirius was having none of that.

The rush from this seized him, he pulled him in tighter, pressing their lips heavily together and only remembering to breathe through his nose when he had to at the slight catch of his breath. He'd already had his fun testing the waters of just kissing with another, and he wanted this to go further like he had before. Now that his first male companion would be leaving at the end of the year, he was going to enjoy this new company, and was still easily pushing aside who exactly he was doing this to lest things get awkward.

A groan he at least tried to muffle escaped him as Remus seemed to instantly understand like always, his hands sliding down tantalizingly slow towards his hips, when he realized what he'd forgotten at the same time he interrupted.

"Unless you two are planning on snogging over there, do you mind if we keep going before time actually ends us."

"I forgot about Regulus," Sirius hissed, pulling away at once and watching the corner with a leer as if expecting him to come bursting around and spot exactly what he'd just said. He in fact hadn't taken note of where his brother had been this whole time, he could have been in this very spot and they likely wouldn't have noticed!

"You tend to do that a lot," Remus said in an honestly conversational tone of voice, releasing him at once and stepping away as if to actually inspect how many trophies a school could hold for the largest Shrivelfig bush.

Sirius hadn't been expecting that, and his first instinct was to reach out and pull him back in arm's length, or even keep going just to prove that they could, there was no reason to stop, when Prongs came around the corner instead with Peter, the first still looking ruffled despite how much he was trying not to.

"Can you believe her?" James muttered, loud enough the whole place could likely still hear anyways. "A bully, honestly, why doesn't she ever go after Snape as often as he curses me! He started it. What's Regulus doing anyways, never seen him bother to say anything before this even while he's been hanging around Snivellus more than she has lately."

"Can't imagine the idea of being interrupted like that," Sirius huffed while crossing his arms.

James seemed to miss the sarcasm.

Peter gave Prongs a reassuring clap on the shoulder, still looking inexplicably pleased by all of this like he'd just seen a great show. "It's alright James, she'll come around."

James gave him a sideways look, like he was trying to detect mocking in that, while Remus finally looked at them and said, "ever tried using some reverse psychology on her?"

"I told you Remus, you can only take two electives, and why would you want to take more anyways-"

"No you idiot," Remus cut off with an eye roll, "I mean, if you don't want her to think you a bully, than try to stop cursing her friend for a bit."

James just looked at him before looking to the other two, "you ever wonder if Moony invented his own language without sharing it with us?"

"All the time," Sirius agreed.

James kept going then just to ignore Remus rolling his eyes at them again.

His excitement grew heavily almost at once, easily blowing off the still foul grumblings he could hear from the redhead at reading of Harry with such a natural on a broom! He was twirling through the air with ease, without a trace of fear, and then he actually caught that little glass ball without a scratch on him! Even McGonagall's arrival couldn't dampen his suddenly good mood, one little detention no matter what the kids fear was trying to tell him otherwise wasn't going to ruin his pride at hearing his Quidditch abilities being passed on!

Somehow the moment got better the longer it kept going!

"I think he actually stopped breathing again," Peter said conversationally as James didn't quite seem able to spit out the reason of why Wood was in the room.

"Probably shouldn't have been letting him get so excited, what with recently being electrocuted and all," Remus agreed with a touch of concern.

"Alright Prongs?" Sirius asked cheerfully, finally heaving himself off the wall with one last look at Remus before going to his best friend and patting him forcefully on the back. "I'm happy for Harry to, he'll be a shoo in for Quidditch in his next year-" he froze though as he glanced down at the words James couldn't get past his lips but Sirius then shouted at the top of his lungs.

Evans actually face palmed at the news of Harry being made Seeker. All four Marauders were over there laughing, applauding each other, and generally pleased beyond all measure for such an accomplishment. Even Alice and Frank looked politely startled at such a feat. Regulus just huffed and sank even lower next to the roster of all past Quidditch players and the various trophies earned over the course of the school. Of course no one was going to mention that he'd made the team in his second year. Obviously his older brother had done nothing more than look on at him in surprise when he'd seen him in the last few games as if he'd forgotten his only brother's existence except when they were playing. He'd show him though, when they got out of this crappy time, whatever was going on here, and played their Quidditch finals that weekend.

The din was deafening from the four and Regulus was honestly tempted to get up all over again and shove that book up Potter's arse if he didn't keep going. Thankfully his image needn't be used, this time, when he kept going at shouting levels all the way up to and past Harry getting into a midnight duel, and only ended with that little Hermione girl getting in the way of their merriment.

"What a little shit, threatening to tell a Prefect on them," James said, that smile finally slipping from him at such a turncoat move.

"She's as bad as Snivellus, more so than Malfoy," Sirius agreed, his nose turned up in disgust.

"Nosy little bugger, hope Harry or Ron shake her off before they get there," Peter nodded along.

They were all sure Lupin agreed as well, though his quiet mutter didn't carry as far like Potter did when he kept going.

Alice and Frank got a moment to smile again when they heard Neville was alright, and had inherited his father's memory problems, and they were all listening unabashedly to the duel about to come when the four kids got there, which meant they all said something quite unique to the little pint not even showing up.

"What a little shit."

James nearly fell over he turned so hard to get his head back around the corner to see Evans looking in his direction, arms crossed, and face still just as red from their fight, though clearly she was putting that aside for now to curse while saying, "never heard such a cowardice move, the least he could have done after starting the fight was finished it!"

Regulus frowned at her though, interrupting whatever fool hearted comment Potter was fixing to agree with. "I found it rather clever actually, why get yourself in trouble when you can just as easily setup your enemy?"

"I can see the merits of both sides," Frank agreed, "the underhanded tactic while he's just saving his own skin from really having to face the fight."

"It's purely ridiculous is what it is," Alice scoffed as she looked at her boyfriend. "There was no winning side in any of this and I'm honestly surprised it went this far instead of all the kids backing down."

"You lot have never been in a real fight have you?" James said aghast at all of this.

"And you've been in too many," Evans snapped testily, causing him to back down and go right back to Harry's problem.

It was a bit entertaining honestly, watching the kids panic and treating getting away from Filch like such a harrowing journey, but the amusement died instantly when the three headed dog entered the picture. Then no one was smiling, minds honestly frozen from shock of hearing of such a monster in their school and if it was really going to get away with eating a bunch of first years!

No one spoke, the rooms shadows feeling more vast than ever and the echo of a massive dog barking in all of their minds until James finally declared all four kids safe no matter what they tried to discuss afterwards.

"That was unbelievable," Peter was the first to find his voice, his light brown eyes still a little wider than normal. "Absolutely ghastly! Whose ruddy idea was it to have that thing in the castle!"

"Du-Dumbl-" Remus stuttered as if a child trying to speak the name for the first time.

"He wouldn't," James said at once. "The Forest he can't really control what comes in and out of there, but he'd never have that thing where so many students could so easily get to it."

"Well this certainly wasn't all Hagrid's doing," Sirius disagreed.

Remus flinched and no one really had much more of an argument, but the mystery still lingered like nothing they'd ever experienced in school. Just what was going on around there?

"Well here's my warning," James sighed as he read the final lines of this chapter.

#Wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Harry Potter #Fanfiction #James Potter #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Alice Smith #Frank Longbottom #Reading the books

[chaoskirin]

Reversed (Reworked) Chapter Three

Chapter Title: Deacon’s Quandary Word Count: 4270 Rating: PG Genre: Fantasy/Gen

Summary: Although John's made friends with students from other Views, it doesn't look like his Vexxzusian friends are too thrilled. After an explanation of Freddie's Ghittan magic, John stalks away, only to find a problem hidden in the dark reaches of the Vexxzus dormitory.

Read Chapter on AO3 and/or Leave Comments!

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"There's nothing about it not to get," Freddie said, wrapping his hands around the open pouch on the table. Over the past month, the unlikely quartet had sort of staked out their own territory in the Well, always gravitating toward the same spot. They gathered there whenever possible--every day, if they could.

"I agree," Brian said.

Today, Roger had dismissed Ghittan magic. Freddie had things to say about that, and he wasn't about to let Brian pontificate in his stead. "You would," he replied, albeit he hoped with satirical affection.

Brian tried: "It's just that--"

"Tut-tut," Freddie interrupted. "I'm explaining today. You've chosen to wear the colors of Kyyra. That means I'm better than you at at least one thing."

Brian sighed.

Freddie dipped his fingers into the beaded pouch, removing just a pinch of loamy sand collected from the bottom of the hot spring. "The earth has power," he said. "And if you're very lucky, like me, you can feel its magic coursing through you every time you touch it. That's why so many in our View don't wear shoes, see? Even though the Vale is built right from the earth, it's still manufactured. The power is so much less. Unless we're here in the Recreation Well. It's powerful here. Natural."

"But carrying around a bag," Roger said. "With dirt in it!"

"Several, actually." Smiling, Freddie removed a few more from his pockets, each collected from a different place. "I've quite the collection of pouches, you see. You can never tell what a situation will call for. In any case, within the Vale, I can't do magic without a strong connection to the earth. Think of the pouches as a supplement. Each grain contains the magic of the planet, so I can use it even indoors."

"But the soil expires," Brian said. He couldn't help it, Freddie supposed.

"Yes, yes, I was getting to that. Detached from the planet, the magic eventually fades."

"What a hassle," Roger said. "If I had to buy a new wand every couple days, I just wouldn't do magic."

Freddie laughed. "I don't buy a new pouch! I just dump out what I have so the earth can renew its magic, then I collect from somewhere else."

Roger dismissively waved a hand. "But you have to walk to do that. Right? What if you're sick, or you're just super lazy?"

"Like you?" John wondered.

The insult flew over Roger's head. "Exactly!"

"Well, that's why we each gravitate toward a certain View," Brian said. Taking hold of a fine silver chain, he pulled a severely faceted sapphire from the collar of his jumper. "There's some people who can choose between one or the other, but I think we all sort of have a certain favorite in our hearts. One that's easiest for us to manage."

"A gem's the same as a wand or a staff," Roger argued.

"You know that's not true." Brian reached behind his neck, unclasping the gem so he could set it on the table. "It's similar, but the gem draws from the self. My own innate magic. And Roger, your wand draws from the magical implement inside it. Magic-From-Magic."

Each View had its own sort of... mantra. One that governed the entire discipline. Magic-From-Magic. Magic-From-Self. Magic-From-Earth. And, of course, the newest View, Magic-From-Death.

Roger narrowed silver eyes. "I've seen you tire yourself out."

"Yes, yes," Brian said. "It's true. It can be depleted if I do too much. But the advantage is, I will eventually be able to do more with what I have, because the magic is mine. I understand it better than any of you will ever be able to understand yours. Anyway, why are we arguing? There's no View that's better than any other. Each has its own advantages and... limitations."

Somehow, their gaze collectively wandered to John. He noticed. And bristled. "What!"

"Having to kill something to do magic is a pretty bad limitation," Roger said.

Uncomfortable, John fidgeted. "It's okay. I breed the beetles in a tank in my dorm." He produced a leather strap from his pocket, which had been rolled into a spiral. At various intervals, a tiny glass vial was attached to the leather; each vial contained a bit of moss and a single shimmering beetle. "My parents told me to always make sure their deaths are quick and painless."

Freddie couldn't help but say, "Their deaths would be entirely preventable if you'd try Ghittan. Here." He handed over one of his many pouches. One that actually complimented the Vexxzusian colors of green and black. "My gift. From me... to you. Aren't you grateful?"

John stared at the pouch as if it contained deadly acid.

"He says he can't do other magic," Roger said. "I tried to get him to try Oerris, but he said he can only do the one."

Brian arched his eyebrows. "Some have a strong preference," he said. "And some can only do a couple. But the nature of death magic is--"

"Everyone knows if you're a Vexxzus, it's a choice," Freddie finished. "Any Vexxzus has at least one other discipline they can master. It's... Oh, I don't know. The promise of potentially unlimited power that draws people to death magic. It's selfish, is what it is. Er..."

Sometimes, he forgot. Even in the middle of a conversation, it could absolutely slip Freddie's mind that John was a Vexxzus. He attempted to salvage his blunder. "Present company excepted? I mean, that's just what they say. Tell him, Brian."

With sarcasm, Brian said, "You want me to talk now?"

"Yes, please."

He sighed. "I don't know a lot about it. I know I can do it if I want to, but I've always found it off-putting. But... Yes. I think it's pretty common knowledge that--uh--what Freddie said."

John stood, seizing the pouch and stuffing it into the pocket with his beetles. "Thanks for the dirt," he growled, stalking away.

Freddie hoped it was all for show, but John eventually disappeared into the stairwell. Strangely, a couple other Vexxzus deliberately followed him.

"Did you see that?" Freddie asked.

"The tantrum?" Roger replied. "Yeah, I think we all did."

"No, he's being followed," Brian said. "I don't think some of the others in his View are happy with him hanging out with us. The Vexxzuses don't really like the other Views. I guess it makes sense, considering how we feel. I'm not too keen on the Vexxzuses either, except for John."

"Imagine if they knew he was hanging out with a mermaid, too," Roger said.

"Once again," Freddie hissed, "Siren. Not mermaid. Sirens are much prettier."

"You're so ugly, though." Roger practically beamed with glee, barely ducking out of the way as Freddie swiped at him. He'd really walked right into that one. For all Roger acted like an idiot, he was awfully quick with a joke.

"You're still compensating for asking me to marry you. You know? After the incident? That's what you're doing." Freddie knew the comment hit home when Roger blushed. "Oh, don't be embarrassed. You're not the first."

"I almost did," Brian admitted. "Of course, I have half an ounce of sense."

"This is not Pick-on-Roger day," Roger muttered. "I checked my calendar this morning."

"He starts it, then he can't take it," Brian explained. "Anyway, they're going to be posting a list of some of the new books that are coming in at Illiya's--" He went to check his watch, and found it wasn't there.

Roger held it up. "Nabbed it while you had your giant nose stuck in a book."

"Give me that, you little thief." Brian snatched it out of the air, strapping it back around his wrist as he hurried off. "My nose is just fine. And you're terrible."

"Eh, I know." Roger shrugged, stood, and stretched. "I'm going to go have a nap before try-outs."

"Try-outs?" Freddie wondered. "You're going out for Virtuatekk?"

"Wish me luck!" Roger said, turning on his heel.

Which left Freddie alone.

Freddie hated being alone, but more than that, he hated being alone with guilt. At least if Roger and Brian had stayed, Freddie would be able to distract himself with conversation. But all he could see was the betrayed look on John's face. The disappointment. The trauma.

He should probably apologize. "Can't believe I'm doing this," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

The main stairwell from the Well branched into several others, each leading to different parts of the school. Though they could be confusing, and many a student had lost their way within the winding paths, Freddie inherited at least a bit of his father's sense of direction. Though he'd never been to the Vexxzusian dormitory before, he knew the general direction of its location, and soon found his way there.

But then almost thought twice about continuing, because the area was so completely foul. Dungeonlike, it was constructed out of low ceilings and stone pillars. It was dark and smelled of rot and death, which made sense, but made for a rather unpleasant aura. Freddie couldn't even feel a hint of the earth's magic through his toes, as if the very earth had forsaken this place. He'd have to brave the cobwebs and giant spiders--seriously, why were there giant spiders?--if it meant making sure John was okay.

Was it so unkempt because the rest of the Vale avoided this place? Did the cleaning staff even venture here? Stepping over a spilled potion puddling on the uneven floor, Freddie searched for any hint that the area had been dusted in the last twenty years.

Perhaps the interior of the dormitory was more palatable than the reception area. If not, he'd have to have words with John, and perhaps entice him into joining Ghittan. Some students did switch Views, after all, once it became clear that they fit better elsewhere.

As Freddie pondered his pitch, he heard soft sobbing.

Narrowing his eyes, he turned a corner toward it and nearly sauntered right into a trio of Vexxzuses with their backs turned to him. Quickly, silently, he ducked behind a crumbling partition. Hidden by shadow, he could almost sit right out in the open to watch them as they gathered around a fourth student on his hands and knees, shivering on the damp floor. It was John.

"Aw, he's crying now," one of the voices mocked.

"Good," said another.

"Do it again," the first voice said.

"I already did," John cried. "Please, just--"

"Do it again!"

Through the brutish Vexxzuses' arms, Freddie watched John reach into the Ghittani earth pouch and take just a pinch, then mutter some words Freddie couldn't hear. It must have been a spell.

Immediately, John screamed and whimpered, falling over onto his side.

Freddie wanted to run to him, but there was no way he could fight his way through three nearly-graduated Vexxzuses, as oily and wiry as they were.

"You'll thank us later," the first voice said. "You're going to do this again and again until you figure out why we don't hang out with the other Views. We protect our own."

This certainly didn't seem like protection. What were they doing to him?

"We should have another twenty minutes before anyone comes down here," the second voice said. "Go make sure no one's coming. It's gonna get worse."

Freddie ducked back into the shadows as footsteps approached, then passed. Once the Vexxzus was out of sight, Freddie peered around the partition again, only to wish he hadn't. He could see John much more clearly now. Huddled on the floor, the second-year cradled his hand, which had erupted with a hundred boils. Someone had also cursed him with antlers, too, as his hair was stacked and stretched unnaturally into characteristic pronged horns. With John's long hair, he had quite an impressive set. In fact, his head was bent forward, unable to support their weight.

"Careful. Don't go too far," The second voice said. "If he backfires enough..."

"I know. It'd serve him right, hanging out with..." the first voice trailed off, then said, "Don't, by the way. You're lucky this is just a warning--Hey!"

As John tried to crawl away, the first Vexxzus kicked him. Hard.

John yelped, and Freddie had seen enough.

He'd never used his voice as a weapon before. At least, not like he was thinking of using it. Still, he began to sing the words of an old song, hoping immunity to his voice wasn't a common Vexxzusian trait.

"The breeze in Scotland bends the trees The trees refuse to break The Wind blows waves onto the shore Destruction in its wake Soon all is left in ruins The trees, the land, and man The Siren lives and stands alone Their death, his only plan."

He waited for them to come running, to find him, to beat him like they did to John, but it was silent, except for the whimpering. Freddie looked around the partition again, finding the two older Vexxzus students staring at him blankly. John was staring at the floor, his antlers resting on it. Now and again, he sobbed quietly.

Confident they wouldn't be able to break out of the song's spell, Freddie hurried forward, kneeling next to John. He looked bad, face contorted in pain. "It's okay, I'm here now."

John just whimpered.

"John?" Freddie said.

The boy tried to lift his head, but couldn't. Freddie rifled through his pockets until he found the spring-silt bag. "I'm gonna cut the antlers off. Your hair's going to be shorter for a while, but you'll be able to walk, at least. Okay?"

"Mm-hm," John answered.

Smudging a bit of dirt onto each antler, Freddie intoned "Ecutis" and severed both. They clattered to the floor and John finally looked up, green eyes wide and filled with tears.

"I thought--They--"

"Shh. It's okay. We'll get you to the hospital."

Freddie had to deal with the other Vexxzuses first, though. "I hate your whole bloody View, John. Seriously. You lot." He looked up, addressing the boys. "You ever do this again... You ever bother him again..."

Could he do this? It was stepping over a line... Appealing to their self-preservation while robbing them of a choice. "Don't hurt him ever again. If you do, I'll kill you."

They nodded stupidly.

"And... And you're to forget I was here. You're to forget it was me. Go--Go back to your dorms now. Stay there 'til tomorrow."

Unquestioningly, they did, shuffling off like zombies.

Freddie actually felt sick.

But he could think about that later. "You think you can walk?" he asked. John nodded, pushing himself to his feet with cracked, reddened hands. "Good. Good, we'll get you upstairs."

It was a long way to go with no one seeing them. But he didn't want to leave John down in the cold dungeon while he went to fetch someone. Thankfully, the sight of a Ghittan tugging an injured Vexxzus along by half an antler was just too much of a puzzle for some people to grasp, so they were left alone all the way up to the infirmary.

Once there, Salwix greeted them with, "You? Again?"

Freddie had no idea what that was about. "I found him outside his dorm. He was attacked." He didn't say what he'd done to the students who'd done the attacking, though. It was horrible, robbing someone of their free will. Plus, he was still afraid that someone would find out, even though he'd told the Vexxzuses to forget.

"Attacked?" Salwix said. "Did you see who?"

"No, I don't know the Vexxzuses," Freddie said. "And besides, I only saw their backs." Another lie. "Can you help him?"

"Of course," Matron Salwix said. "Of course. You run along now, though. I'll have to figure out what this is before I can heal it."

Freddie nodded, weakly making his way out of the infirmary and sitting down on the top step just outside.

That's where Roger and Brian found him several hours later.

"He didn't really say anything. That was the scary part," Freddie said, after he'd told the story. "I mean, John always has something to say. But all the way upstairs, he just..."

"Poor kid," Roger said. "It's okay, we'll figure out who it was."

"I might have left that part out," Freddie said, looking at his hands. "I mean, they'll... They'll definitely leave him alone now. We don't have to figure out who it was."

For all he tried to forget it, Freddie could remember each of their staring, blank faces as if he'd known them his whole life.

"Freddie, what'd you do?" Brian asked.

"I told them... If they ever hurt John again, I'd kill them. Then I told them to forget who I was." Freddie wouldn't look up. He couldn't bear it if Roger and Brian were judging him. "And they have no reason to believe I can't kill them, since they don't know what I can do."

"What's wrong with that?" Roger asked. "Sounds pretty smart to me."

"Under the circumstances..." Brian said. "It sounds like you did the right thing."

"Yeah, but taking away their free will..." Freddie started, but Brian held out a hand, cutting him off.

"You took away their ability to hurt someone. Bugger their free will. If they're going to go after John because he's friends with you, I say you did the right thing."

Roger nodded.

Freddie only felt marginally better. It was one thing to agree with what he did. It was another thing entirely to have done it. "If I can do that, what's to stop me from telling someone to jump off the top of the Vale, or I'll kill 'em?"

"There's nothing," Brian said. "But that's not who you are, is it?"

"Of course it's not," Roger said, smiling. His eyes were an iron-colored silver, turning slowly purple as it prepared to rain. "Think about what you did, Fred. How old were they? Sixth? Seventh year? You took out all of 'em by singing. You might have saved John's life."

"I don't think they would have killed him," Freddie said.

"Still," Brian said. "You did good. Nothing about what you did is remotely bad."

"Guys?"

They turned around to find John standing just outside the infirmary door. The antlers were gone now, though his hair was much shorter and puffy, almost cloud-like. There was a nasty bruise under one eye, and his hands were bandaged. "Did you wait here for me?"

"Of course," Freddie said. "And these two found me when I didn't show up in Rec."

John sat down on the step next to Freddie, and leaned on his shoulder. "I'm so tired," he said. Freddie put his arm around him.

John did seem so much younger than the others just then. He was small, even for a second-year, and at the moment, he was even quieter than usual. To think that other people from his house--sixth or seventh years at that, Freddie was sure--could attack him so viciously that he'd stop talking entirely...

"I'm... Allergic to the other Views," John said. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone. The other Vexxzuses think it makes us weak."

"Allergic?" Brian asked. "Like..."

"Yeah. Some Vexxzuses are. If we try to cast magic in other ways, it backfires. It doesn't matter what you cast, either. The effect is random. And the more you try, the worse it gets. I don't know how far they were gonna go, Freddie. If you hadn't found me..." He tapered off, shaking his head.

All Freddie could say was "I'm so sorry."

"That's why some people go to Vexxzus," Brian realized. "They have to. They don't have a choice."

John nodded.

"Well, I'm glad you're still talking to us," Freddie said. "Those brutes made a compelling point. Are you going to--I mean, what if someone else...?"

John smiled. "I'll be ready next time. I'm tougher than I look. Besides, those ones Freddie sang at are the worst, and they won't bother me anymore!" Freddie detected a note of pride in the second-year's voice, and it made all his worries evaporate.

"No, they won't," Freddie replied. "But there's others...?"

"I said I can deal with the others," John said, a hint of his constant low-grade irritation returning. "They won't catch me off guard again, trust me."

"Temper," Roger said.

John reached around Freddie and gave Roger a shove with a heavily-bandaged hand.

"Just be careful," Brian said. "You've got a long ways to go here. Don't get yourself expelled."

"Oh, I'll be careful," John promised, with the ghost of a very reckless smile.

---

Brian knew something was up when John asked him to create a spellslip.

Spellslips were a creation of Kyyra mages and contained just a tiny, temporary, extremely malleable shred of self-magic written on paper. They had dozens of practical uses, and more talented Kyyra could transfer their magic in amazingly creative ways.

John didn't ask for anything creative, though. He asked for a microfect--which was essentially the essence of one's magic--written on a strange piece of near-translucent paper.

And sure, the other Views could impose their own magic on a spellslip, but the infinitesimal amount of magic Brian transferred made him more curious than wary.

Additionally, John had asked Freddie for a scale, and Roger for a spellvial--essentially the same thing as a spellslip, but in liquid form and far, far more volatile. Spellvials were unique to Oerris, but few ever used them. They tended to explode.

Brian made John promise that he wouldn't make anything explode, but John just laughed and said, "don't worry." It didn't exactly assuage Brian's fears.

It did get him to thinking about the creative ways one could combine various magics into something more powerful. Perhaps Vexxzus wasn't the "future of magic," as some mages in the discipline insisted. Perhaps the true potential of magic lay in its combination.

In any case, Brian mostly forgot about the gifted spellslip until one fateful day in the cafeteria.

Most Views tended to keep to their own tables, although Brian, Freddie, John, and Roger usually sat together anyway. It was a little odd for John to be apart from the other Vexxzuses; over the past few days, he'd gotten some glacial glares from his fellows. Even if other Views sometimes sat with their friends from other dormitories, the Vexxzuses almost never did.

Although John seemed to relish these glares. Odd.

"What're these?" Freddie asked, sitting down at the long table and indicating the cakes placed at even intervals. Most of them were already cut into, with many students already enjoying their portions.

"Don't know," Roger replied, his face covered in frosting. "Something the Vale did, I guess. Don't think it's a holiday. Maybe one of the teachers' birthdays?"

Brian shrugged to indicate his own ignorance. "They're at all the tables," he said.

"Maybe one of the staff is learning to bake," John suggested, with that same reckless smile he wore after his accident.

Before Brian could say anything, though, Roger said, "You know something."

John arched his eyebrows. "Oh, look. Brian's doing something."

"You're deflecting," Brian said. "Clearly. Besides, what I'm doing isn't nearly as interesting. I'm just making a list of books to look for on Weald Day."

"You know you can just send a Mailer Daemon to the Weald and they'll send you back what you need," Roger said. "That's how I got that anger management book for John."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes. It made wonderful kindling."

Brian blinked. "You didn't."

"He did! Thankfully..." Roger trailed off as he reached into his bag, pulling out a book titled Managing Your Rage, which he presented to John. "They were on discount, so I've got thirteen more. If this one falls into the fire somehow, or gets thrown into the spring, or flies off the roof of Vale Rest and into the foggy moors never-to-be-found-again, you just let me know." "Great," John growled.

"See?" Roger said. "It's already working. He hasn't turned me into a frog yet." "Yet." John smiled, then reached across the table to turn Brian's watch so he could see it. "You're about to find out what I've been doing," he said, then gave a surreptitious nod toward the gathered Vexxzuses.

Curious, Brian turned to watch. So did the others. "Any second," John said again. "And... Now." Not all the Vexxzuses, but a good number of them, jumped from their seats at the same time. Some of them were clutching their backsides or stomachs as they fled amid the confused stares of the other students. Some of them nearly fell over each other as they fought to escape, and most cried out in rather comical desperation. Laughter and cries of shock came from the hall just outside the cafeteria.

"One spellslip written on cake parchment," John said, "designed to cause a simultaneous magic effect. One spellvial of vanilla extract--sorry, Brian. It's an explosion, but probably not the kind you were expecting. And one of Freddie's scales, finely chopped, spelled with my own magic to carry the memory of sirensong. They won't know I did it, but they'll be wary of me for reasons they don't even understand."

Roger looked at the nearly-finished piece of cake on his plate.

"Oh, don't worry," John shrugged. "It was just for Vexxzus." Roger non-subtly pulled another couple copies of the anger management book out of his bag, and placed them in front of John.

John just smiled.

Brian couldn't help but be impressed.

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #fantasy #fantasy au #reversed #ck writes #not bestiary

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Her Monster (part one)

[Wing AU; Tour!verse]

A new and improved rewrite of a very old fic! Hopefully this one will be better than the past one! I’ve cleaned it up a lot because GOD there were so many tense shifts lol

EB belongs to @spooner7308!!

TW: Blood

-------------------------------

Chapter One - Devils Don’t Fly

Sometimes bad things just happened to good people. Sometimes fate just has other plans for someone. In EB’s case, that was very much true.

Elizabeth Barton--or simply EB--had been missing for a year and two months. She was remembered for her biting wit, harsh retorts, and overabundance of sarcasm. It wasn’t easy to get along with her, but there were a select few who were close to her, and that’s why her disappearance hit as hard as it did.

By now, though, mostly everyone had moved on.

The funeral was an open casket with just photos and one of her beanies inside. It was hard to look at, painful even. The idea that she was still alive, since her body was never found, came about, but it had been dropped for awhile.

EB became a mere memory in the back of the cast’s mind.

But Joan was still hanging onto the memories that she was still there.

Jane told her she needed to move on, and she knew she did, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t accept the fact that her friend was really gone, that there was no one around to affectionately call her a “weird little creature” or beat up the hybrid-hating racists that sometimes loudly complained at stagedoors. No more warm hugs from giant griffon vulture wings that seemed to envelope her entire body, no more late night flies because nobody else would humor her nocturnal nature, no more wordy retorts that always made her giggle no matter how awful she was feeling.

No more best friend.

It was November, now. Fall was coming into full bloom. It was Anne’s idea to go to the park on their day off, and everyone obliged, knowing that the trip would be a good chance to stretch their wings. Joan hadn’t wanted to go, but Kat had sternly said she needed some fresh air, as she became more and more reclusive ever since EB’s death (not death, not death, she’s not dead, she can’t be--) and rarely ever went out. But she branched off from the group to venture further into the forest, wanting to be alone.

It’s funny, she thought. She hated the fact that she was alone that EB was now gone, but she hated the company of other people. There was only one avian she wanted, and everyone was sure she wouldn’t ever be coming back.

Joan spread her wings to the slim slivers of sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees. She used to hate them, but EB said they made her interesting. But now she was back to hating them all over again.

Rustling snapped her out of her trance. Deer jumped out of the underbrush and rushed right past Joan, causing her to leap away and fall on her back. Her wings thrusted outwards in surprise, tail lashing. She rolled over, wincing slightly, then realized the odd behavior of the animals. Deer normally didn’t run towards an avian.

They ran away.

Joan stood up and brushed herself off, ruffling out her feathers to rid them of any dirt. She was still pondering why the deer were acting so weirdly when she heard it.

The squeaking.

Curious and concerned, she tiptoed forward and peeked through the brush. There, only a few feet away, was a doe lying in a pool of its own blood. Its stomach was ripped open, but it was still alive, like whatever had killed it wasn’t interested in eating at the moment. The sight made Joan’s veins turn icy in fear.

What did this?

When she found out, she wished she had just ran off with the rest of the herd.

Growling came to the left. A large, bulky creature emerged from its hiding spot in the trees, perching on a branch with long, curved talons. It had molted green skin and bug-like eyes. Multiple rows of teeth poked out of its maw, dripping with drool. The barb at the end of its tail was just as menacing as its seven-inch claws. When it noticed Joan, it exhaled a low hissing breath and buzzed its four insect wings.

A WingEater.

But that’s impossible! WingEaters shouldn’t exist anymore! Wasn’t the gene to activate the form dead or something?

Joan flung her wings open but it was too late; the monster was upon her. There was a terrible pain- everything went black when she hit that tree.

Joan woke up on the ground.

No-- Wait-- Waking up implied she was in a bed, at home, safe.

Joan came to.

She was lying face-down on the ground, mouth full of dirt. There was a metallic tang on her tongue- she was frothing red at the lips.

Joan lifted her head up and coughed out gritty clots of scarlet. She saw the WingEater hunched over a few feet away, distracted by something. This was her only chance to get away so she crawled. She crawled until she could finally force herself to stand up and run.

She staggered back towards the park. Someone screamed. Multiple people scream. Jane was covering her mouth in shock- but why? Maria was shielding Bessie’s eyes, Aragon had backed herself up into Kat’s arms, Anne looked like she was about to faint…

Joan’s knees were wobbling and her vision kept blurring with a blizzard of black. She couldn’t focus on anything. She attempted to speak, to ask what was wrong, but only blood flooded out. Deliriously, she dabbed her fingertips against her lips and stared in bewilderment when they came back red, like she was just now noticing her body violently ejecting its own fluids. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cleves, maybe Maggie, sprint somewhere- where was she going?

Joan couldn’t follow, couldn’t ask what was going on. Her legs gave out. She dropped into a pool of her own blood.

It wasn’t the deer that WingEater was eating.

---

The Flightless. That was what people who have lost their ability to fly were called. Almost as disgraceful as hybrids. That was what Joan was now sorted into.

The doctors spent six hours trying to stabilize Joan. Eventually, they got the bleeding to stop--it was a lot of blood for one body--and stitched up the gash, but nothing could bring back the wing that was ripped off.

Joan would never fly again.

When she woke up, she cried. Joan shivered and sobbed and had bad panic attacks. The anguish was blinding- the pain was worse. Even with the antibiotics, she was overwhelmed by white hot agony that seared up through her back, ripping her apart from the inside out.

Her world was crashing down.

She hadn’t realized the damage at first, apparently. She was in a severe state of shock when she came hobbling into the park, clothing drenched in her own blood. People who had witnessed it said she looked extremely dazed and completely out-of-it, unaware of the gore she was soaked in, unaware that her back was spitting like a spigot. She just kept asking herself why. Why her? Why did this have to happen to her? What did she ever do?

When she was released from the hospital, Joan went home and lay in her bed for six days. For six days she suffered. She didn’t eat, barely drank anything, and just about everything had to be forced down her throat.

Eventually, she recovered, but she didn’t get better. Not psychologically. That was why her new psychiatrist prescribed her antidepressants. She didn’t think they worked.

Still, she eventually forced herself to get up. Even when it felt like someone had just ripped out her spine and proceeded to beat her into a pulp with it, she hauled her body off to work.

Without her other wing, though, her balance was completely thrown off. She stumbled around like a giraffe with broken legs, unable to stay upright. Not to mention all the stares she got.

The one-winged fledgling was a freak.

The others did their best to ward off gawkers, but they couldn’t always be there. Not when kids plucked out her feathers or tried to touch the spot where her other wing used to be when she was at stagedoor or out near fans. Not when adults made snide remarks when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Not when other avians posted on social media about the Flightless hybrid in SIX.

The anger and despair from it all simmered inside of Joan.

After work one day, Joan avoided the other ladies in waiting and the queens. She felt delirious and achy and just wanted to be alone.

Guided by the evening light, Joan stumbled right into predator territory.

The WingEater came out of nowhere, ramming into Joan with the force of a charging bull and sending her sprawling across the ground. She tried to scamper away, but a powerful beak clamped down on her remaining wing and threw her into a tree. 

Joan was roughed up badly, so much so that she thought the WingEater that had taken her wing had come back for revenge. But that one had been a Cimex. This one was a very angry Avem.

It stood at a staggering eight feet tall, with choppy tail feathers and massive wings. Its plumage, sand-colored that faded to dark brown, was now smeared in her blood. Its narrow white head lacked feathers, rather having the fuzz that most vultures had, but that made its enraged expression even more clear to her.

The WingEater soon pinned her to the ground. A massive, bird-like foot that was tipped with razor sharp black talons pressed down on her chest with so much weight that she thought her ribs were cracking beneath the force. The beast opened its hooked beak around her neck, preparing to rip her throat out, and Joan sobbed, “Just do it.”

The beast’s jaws twitched, then it pulled back slightly. It looked down at Joan, bloody and sobbing beneath it.

  “Just kill me already!” Joan cried, tears streaming down her face. “Do it! Please! I-- I don’t even care. I don’t wanna be alive anymore.”

That did it.

Some humanity returned to those pitch black eyes. 

The WingEater dipped its head to Joan and gently began to lick one of her many wounds clean. Joan flinched, trying to squirm away, but the foot on top of her curled its claws around her and dragged her into the fluffy girth of the creature when it laid down. All she could do was look up at the sky and sob, letting the monster clean her of all the blood, though she was sure it was just trying to calm her down so she’ll be easier to eat. 

Goddesses, she wished EB was there.

#wing au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #uk tour six #eb #elizabeth barton #tour joan on the keys #tour katherine howard #katherine howard #tour anne boleyn #tour catherine of aragon #tour jane seymour #her monster

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Ch17

Chapter 17: The Reason

"Would you hold still?!" Kai snapped, pulling the cloth soaked with medical herbs from the kitchen away.

"That stings!" Cole argued as he moved his clawed hand to cover the wound and prevent Kai from touching it but hissed every time his claws grazed the surface of the wound. Kai snorted feeling his blood boil in rage. He'd had to drag the man back to the castle and wake up some of the servants to get the things he needed. Then he had to drag Cole to the kitchen and force him to sit on the table. Shade all but exploded when the two entered the kitchen covered in leaves, dirt, and blood, all of which were scattered all over the room.

Then he practically buried Kai and Cole with questions when he saw the wound on the man's chest, despite Cole's insistence that it was only a scratch and that he was fine.

He only managed to free himself of the other noirette's badgering by pointing to Kai. The brunette was digging through the cabinets for anything he could use. Shade all but exploded. Now, Kai had to put up with the Dragon Lord acting like a child while he tried to remove his coat and the remains of his shirt to nurse his wounds. His already thinning patience was on the verge of snapping.

"If you'd hold still, and let me clean the damn thing, it wouldn't hurt as much!"

"If you hadn't run away, this never would've happened!" Cole yelled in a voice bitter with sarcasm before he deliberately scolded. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How much danger you were in! You were only lucky you were on your way back to the castle, or I wouldn't have been able to save you!" He shouted. Kai growled and threw down the washcloth.

"If you hadn't started blasting things and scaring me, I never would've left!" The teen countered, if for nothing more than to wipe the smirk off the man's face. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"You shouldn't have been in the West Wing in the first place! You were specifically told what it was, by several people I might add, and I never permitted you to enter my room! How would you feel if someone entered your room without permission? And don't lie to me because we both know you've would've reacted the same way!" Cole retorted. Kai felt his ego bruise at that comment and opened his mouth to protest but bit back the words and exhaled.

"You're right." He said with no emotion. Cole was stunned and clearly not expecting such a response.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you are right." He repeated in a more civil voice. He was tired of this blame game. "I shouldn't have gone into your room without your permission and I'm sorry." He said and his apology was sincere, but when he looked up again, his fierce eyes bore into Cole's. The dragon hybrid sat frozen by the intensity. "But I'm not the only one at fault here! You should learn to control your temper!" He scolded. Instantly, Cole opened his mouth to counter but immediately realized he had no answer.

He felt his pride deflate when he realized the boy was right. He had lost his temper, but he refused to take all the blame for this.

"I'm the only one with a temper or at fault here! You should learn to listen and do what you're told!"

"I already know that!" Kai snapped, collapsing into a chair. "I'm too impulsive; it's one of my faults but, to be honest, if you weren't always hiding maybe I wouldn't be so curious." He mumbled out loud, dumping more yarrow on the cloth. "I've been here almost a month and the only thing I know about you is that you have a temper, you're a control freak and you can throw energy."

"Haven't you ever heard 'curiosity killed the cat'?" Cole snorted but chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, I have." Kai chuckled. "As a kid, I always heard the story of Bluebeard; everyone always said it was supposed to show how curiosity only causes trouble." He chuckled then smiled. "But I always thought that if that were true and the girl obeyed her husband, he would've killed her anyway, and start the process all over again, but because of her curiosity, not only did she find out the truth, she and her brothers managed to kill the guy and save a lot of other girls from suffering the same fate." He burst out laughing at the memory.

Cole just stared as he listened intensely.

"No one could answer that one, not even Mom and Dad said curiosity was a double-edged sword; it helps us learn new things and make discoveries but if we let it get the better of us, we set ourselves up for trouble and I always let mine get the best of me."

"Obviously," Cole added before his voice took a stricter tone. "Next time you want to ease your curiosity, you should try asking."

"So if I asked you, you would have let me into your room even if it was for the sake of getting to know you better?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, his voice a mixture of sarcasm and teasing.

"Hell no!" Cole blurted out fiercely. He realized his mistake when the smirk on Kai's face widened. Again his pride was dented. "I see your point." He mumbled with as much dignity as he could muster.

"And you say I'm impulsive." Kai teased.

"You are." He countered, leaning closer to him. Since he was sitting at the table, their eyes were level with each other. "You're reckless, that's why you get into trouble and you never have the control to hold your tongue when the time calls for it, and you always put others or your pride before your own safety; there's a time and place when your own safety should be more important than defending your pride."

"Like in the woods, when that thing tried to kill you?" Kai asked as he raised an eyebrow in an accosting tone. "I don't care what happens to me if someone I care about is in danger! If I can help them I will!"

"You care about me?" Cole smirked and a blush painted Kai's face before he growled back.

"That's not the point!"

"I know what you meant." He chuckled as he shook his head with a small smile. "But I stand by what I told you before, if you keep focusing on everyone else's happiness and let your pride get the better of you, you'll never be happy." He said and the statement didn't anger Kai as much as it did the first time, but he still felt his irritation spike as a result. He opened his mouth to protest but Cole cut him off. "Everyone else who goes out of their way to try and make you happy will constantly worry about you because they know you'll always put everyone else before yourself." The hybrid said and any protest or angry words died in his throat.

He never looked at it that way before but it was as if the last piece of an extremely difficult puzzle had suddenly been put into place.

Nya had told him something similar before she and Lloyd had left. Everyone else in the palace had been sick with worry over him since he arrived, worse after his and Cole's fight. The teen put the medical supplies down and lowered his head.

"Why did you let me stay here?" He asked in a low voice, unsure if he wanted an answer.

"I don't understand." Cole blinked. Kai raised his head and glared at him.

"When I asked you to let me stay in Nya and Lloyd's place, why did you say yes? You said so yourself, I'm nothing but trouble?"

"I never said that." Cole corrected.

"That doesn't answer my question." Kai glared. Now it was Cole's turn to smile, a smile that curled at the corners.

"You really want to know why I let you stay here?" He asked and Kai nodded.

"Because you fascinated me the second I saw you." He replied and he raised his claws and spoke in a passionate, free-flowing voice as if he no longer had to keep something secret. Kai was clearly not expecting such an answer.

"What?"

"I'd never seen or met anyone like you; you found my castle all on your own, you were willing to sacrifice everything for your family and when you saw my true form for the first time, not only were you not afraid of me, you knew who I was! I didn't believe it when my staff called your arrival here a miracle, but everything about you astounded me." Cole paused for a moment, taking in the stunned expression on Kai's face. "Every time you saw me, you showed no fear and you refused to obey or respect me unless it was earned and you defy my every order; you countered every rule, regulation, or demand I made with one of your own and you had an answer for each one."

He paused for a moment and looked around the kitchen, not surprised to see the staff had left.

"You treat everyone in the castle-like people, where anyone else would've fled in terror, you let them pamper you even though you hate being waited on, you treat this place as if it were your home, and you put your own needs on hold for the sake of someone else." He sighed and Kai blinked again, but Cole was unsure if he was truly confused or if he disbelieved Cole meant what he was saying. "I agreed to keep you here for the reason that everything about you fascinates me from your beauty, intelligence, spirit, fiery temper, fierce independence, courage, heart... need I go on?" Cole smirked at the crimson blush spreading rapidly across Kai's face when he realized Cole was serious.

"I-I..."

"You're like a desert rose, Kai, something so unique and powerful that it can grow in the wildest of places." He smiled warmly. "You're like one giant puzzle and no matter how hard I try, I can't figure you out, but mark my words, I plan to." He promised. Kai just sat there for a moment, too stunned to speak. His mind was still trying to process what he was just told, completely ignoring the blush he knew was blazing across his face. When his mind finally put everything into perspective, he smiled a small smile and laughed.

"Funny, back home everyone but my siblings considered me everything from odd and peculiar to weird and bizarre for the way I am, and yet here, everyone seems to like me for that reason."

"Then those ignorant, backward fools need to get their asses out of the past and accept the end of aristocracy; I've been trapped in this castle for over a hundred years and I know full well things are much different." Cole laughed. Kai couldn't help but laugh in agreement. He flashed a small smile before turning back to the cloth soaked in yarrow medicine.

"Now hold still and let me finish cleaning this, it'll sting a bit." He warned before pressing the liquid-drenched cloth to the wound. Cole bit his lip, a hiss making his pain evident but he held still while the boy gently worked.

"Just a little longer, I promise." Kai comforted him, throwing away the dirty rag and grabbing another one. Once the wound was clean, he screwed the yarrow jar shut and took out a cotton-padded patch large enough to cover the entire wound. He grabbed one of the thick aloe leaves, cut it open, and squeezed the clear gelatin onto the patch before carefully spreading it all over. Cole watched patiently as he emptied the entire leaf until it curled.

Once that was done, Kai carefully lifted the patch from the bottom and pressed it to the wound.

Cole hissed, but this time, he only felt slight discomfort.

"Don't worry," Kai said, wiping off his hands. "It's aloe, it's more soothing than yarrow and it'll stop the itch and it's also a very powerful disinfectant." He explained, pressing his hand to the patch gently. "Now, I just need you to remove your coat so I can bandage it." He said and Cole shrugged the garment off his shoulders, revealing his entire upper body. Kai bit back a blush as the naked flesh was revealed to him. Kai quickly grabbed the bandages and carefully began wrapping them around Cole's waist.

"You're a good nurse," Cole commented, noticing how skilled the teen was.

"Thank you." He replied as he forced down another blush.

"Where'd you learn this, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My mom and dad taught me," Kai replied. "Our family was well known for their knowledge of herbs and since we traveled a lot when I was younger, we had to make sure we knew what to do in case one of us got hurt before we reached the next town or doctor, but most of the time, it was just me and Dad always teased me, saying that was why the yarrow stung; it was both a healer and a punishment for misbehaving."

"Sounds like the two of you were close."

"When I was little, he would always buy me the most beautiful and bizarre things wherever we went and he'd tell me stories about them." Kai smiled. "My favorites were always the ones about how our family descended from a powerful line of warriors from Japan."

"He sounds like a good man." Cole laughed. "My father was like that, he always told me our family was chosen by the legendary dragon to protect this kingdom from corruption and prejudice, and obviously, this castle's theme was modeled around that myth."

"I noticed," Kai replied as he tied the bandage tightly. Once he was finished, he frowned and turned away again. Cole looked concerned until he noticed another blush forming on the boy's cheeks. "Thank you, by the way." The teen finally spoke.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you, for saving me." He clarified. Now it was Cole's turn to blush, but he hid it by coughing in his hand.

"You're welcome, and thank you... for coming back." He added.

"I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"Oh, is that all?" Cole replied, sounding a little disappointed.

"No, that's not all." Kai giggled a bit. "Honestly, I like it here; it's nice to be away from that town for a while and I'd feel bad if I left everyone without saying goodbye, and besides, I want to get to know you too." He added. Cole just smiled and gently ran his claws through Kai's hair before scooping him into his arms like a bride. The teenager yelped at the sudden movement.

"H-Hey! W-Wait a minute!" The teen protested.

"Don't think this means you're off the hook, you're still in big trouble for going in my room," Cole smirked and laughed. Kai snorted and crossed his arms. He hated being carried. The few staff members watching backed away as Cole flew through the hallway with his captive in his arms. The four creatures stood frozen, their eyes bulged and their mouths dropped in identical masks of shock.

"Um..." Jay mouthed, pointing to where the two men just were. "Did they just—"

"Uh-huh." Ronin nodded.

"And then they—" Tox continued.

"Yup." Echo finished. This was certainly an interesting turn of events...

#ninjago #The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #ninjago cole #ninjago lloyd #ninjago zane #ninjago ronin #ninjago tox #ninjago jay #ninjago echo #lavashipping

[queen18xo]

The Cat And The Wolf

Chapter Three

Julian sat in his dilapidated chambers and finally gave in to his emotions, he quietly sniffled, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Alone, Julian saw no point in wiping the tears from his cheeks, instead he allowed them to fall unimpeded. His cheeks were a bright blotchy red, the blue of his eyes brightened by the redness and the sheen of tears gathered at his waterline. It had been a little over a month since he lost his father but he hadn’t yet had a chance to mourn the man. Julian was always a sociable person, he loved people, and for the first time in his life he felt truly alone. 

It was common knowledge that Humans weren't a fan of Witchers, nor were they particularly fond of Elves, therefore Julian was entirely unliked by almost everyone he met. It was true that human Witchers received abuse of all types but none so much as Julian, who was often shunned by those of his own kind. Witchers saw him as an abomination, since after all, they were never meant to reproduce. Elves, although not outright hateful towards him, refused to accept him as one of them. Without his father, Julian had nowhere to belong. 

The door swung open and slammed against the stone wall violently, the already cracked frame to groan ,Julian startled, the abrupt shifting of his weight combined with the fragility of the aged bed sent him crashing to the floor in a pile of wood and bedding. Julian groaned in pain, wiping the tears from his eyes he lifted his head to meet Geralt’s almost sheepish golden gaze. His blue irises burned with indignation. 

"Sweet Melitele, you- You brute!" Julian screeched from his position on the ground, his bum luckily protected from the floor's ice-cold surface by his tattered and raggedy bedding. Julian's voice was gruff and hoarse when he spoke, wholly unlike his usual sweet, melodic tones. “Don't you know how to knock?”

"Julian, are you... Hmm... Are you okay?" Geralt bit out, his face twisted into an unflattering frown. His eyes flickered between looking at Julian with concern and looking anywhere else. 

Despite himself, a fond smile tugged at the previously downturned corners of Julian’s cherry red lips. His fingertips tingled with the need to soothe the furrow between the White Wolf's well-defined eyebrows. Geralt's large body filled the doorway, his broad shoulders brushed the wooden frame of the door, and his silver hair shimmered in the dying daylight. Julian was captivated by the sight, it was uncommon for a Witcher to be defined as beautiful, however Julian could use no other word to describe the man before him.

Julian watched with nervous anticipation as the Wolf’s hulking frame advanced on him, his thumping footsteps ringing out through the silence. Julian squinted up at the Witcher who now towered above him, his shadow obscuring his view of anything that wasn't Geralt. Geralt grunted and leaned down to offer Julian one of his sword calloused hands, Julian gave him a timid smile and slipped his dainty hand into the Wolf’s larger one. The Cat revelled in the warmth of the hand surrounding his, the way rough callouses pressed against his own roughened palms caused a warm heat flow through his veins. 

Julian gaped in astonishment as the Wolf pulled his dead weight up till he was standing, he stood chest to chest with Geralt, barely a hairsbreadth between their lips as Julian tilted his face up to meet Geralt's golden gaze. A subtle pink flush coated Julian's sculpted cheekbones as he blinked up at the larger man. Geralt's breath ghosted over his lips as their quiet huffs mingled in the small space between them. 

"Come on," Geralt growled lowly, almost threateningly, the tonal change sufficiently breaking what Julian had foolishly allowed himself to perceive as a moment. Geralt tugged impatiently on Julian's wrist causing the shorter man squeaked as he stumbled, his hand connecting with Geralt's firm chest in a poor attempt to right himself. "Can't you walk?" Geralt asked dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone as he addressed the Cat. 

"Why, my dear I had no idea you had a sense of humour," the Cat scoffed, a wry grin twisting on his lips. He reluctantly pulled his hand from the heat of Geralt's grip. Lowering himself into a mock bow, Julian gestured for the Wolf to lead. "After you dear Wolf." Julian looked up at Geralt through a fan of long black eyelashes. 

"Hmm," Geralt grunted, sweeping out of the room with an elegance and grace that should be impossible with his stature. Julain was forever amazed by the man; he'd barely been in the Wolve’s keep a day, and yet he was utterly taken with the eldest of the Wolf brothers. 

~~~

Once in the snow-covered courtyard of the keep, Geralt directed Julian to a chest of armour, the sheer quantity was astounding as the various pieces overflowed from the basket. "Something should fit you." Geralt's eyes scanned over his body sizing him up, Julian felt an uncomfortable urge to shield his smaller frame from Geralt's scrutiny. 

Once both Witchers were securely locked into medium armour, they moved over to where the Witchers stored their weaponry. Julian still had his two blades strapped tightly to the meat of his thighs, sufficiently hidden from view due to the length of his borrowed tunic. 

Julian jumped, staring up at Geralt with wide, startled eyes as one of the Witcher’s large palms brushed against the inside of his thigh. "You don't need that." Geralt murmured as he slid Julian's silver dagger from his sheath. The Cat sputtered words lost to him, his flesh still burning from the heat of Geralt's fingertips. 

Julian cleared his throat, a flush visible across his cheeks, as he ran his eyes over the row of swords hung before him. His eyes caught on Vesemir's seal, without thinking he reached for the sword, pulling it from where it hung against the wall. In his hands the blade was weightier than his own, but it was well balanced, and the hilt fit comfortably in his hand. A small smile formed on his lips as images of the many times this sword had laid beside his own, as well as his father’s over the many years the three had travelled together. 

"Ready?" Geralt turned away from the vast array of weaponry, instead making his way to the middle of the snowy courtyard. As Julian followed he caught three pairs of golden orbs fixed on himself and the White Wolf. He snorted, muttering to himself over the nosiness of the other Wolves. 

The two Witchers stood before each other, their faces steel masks of concentration. Julian's eyes gleamed dangerously in the dying sunlight as he and Geralt circled each other. The older Witcher moved steadily, waiting for Julian to strike. Julian pulled his steel dagger from its sheath, the dagger being his preferred weapon in any combat situation. 

Advancing on the Wolf, Julian slashed at Geralt with finesse, the sleek dagger carved at the air before his chest with well-timed flicks of Julian’s deceivingly dainty wrist. Geralt jumped to the left, spinning into an elegant pirouette to avoid the sharp steel dagger aimed at him. Julian spun in time to meet Geralt, steady on his feet he attacked with a renewed vigour. Geralt jumped out of the other Witcher’s reach, one of his fists connecting with the Cat's jaw as space grew between them. Julian growled, his startling blue eyes glinting dangerously in the winter sun. Geralt smirked maliciously back at the younger man. 

Julian spat, crimson blood dripping from his plump lips as he bared his abnormally sharp teeth threateningly at Geralt. "Not bad Wolf," The Cat Witcher sneered and used the back of his hand to wipe the remaining droplets of blood from his mouth. 

"Hmm, not bad yourself little one," the Wolf teased. Geralt smirked as he heard the deep threatening growl rumbling from the Cat's chest. Affronted, Julian threw himself at Geralt. The Wolf witcher skillfully cast Aard, sending the younger sprawling to the snow-covered cobblestones of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. 

Julian winced as his back collided with the unforgiving ground. Baring his teeth once more he sprung to his feet, he regained his composure as he slowly advanced on Geralt, his feet sure beneath him despite the unfamiliar environment. Geralt stood begrudgingly impressed by the younger man's durability and adaptability, traits that were highly commendable amongst Witchers. 

Geralt pulled his steel sword from its sheath and raised it above his head in a glistening arc as the sun sparkled against its polished surface. Julian threw his dagger, the air whining as the steel blade sliced through it. Geralt's sword cut through the air, easily deflecting the airbourne dagger, the sleek blade clattering to the floor. Julian's sword hissed in the still winter air as it too was pulled from its sheath, the younger man brandishing it with a near-feral grin splitting his lips. 

The two witchers circled each other in a slowly tightening spiral, their swords glinting dangerously in the sun's warming rays. Julian attacked first with a high sweeping slice, the Wolf quick to meet his strike before the blow could land, an ear-piercing clang rang out across the desolate courtyard. The force behind Geralt's deflection effortlessly sent the sure-footed Cat stumbling back several steps. 

Geralt lowered his sword and watched as Julian advanced on him once more, his slow steps displaying his feline grace, the movements captivating and starkly different to the Wolf Witcher’s own movements. Julian tore the thick strip of chain mail from where it was wrapped precariously around his trim waist, with a flourish of his wrist he had the protective material spun around his forearm. 

With the chainmail tight around his forearm, Julian leapt, gliding effortlessly through the icy air between himself and the White Wolf. Julian's blade slid against Geralt's diagonal parry, the older Witcher spinning their swords in an effort to disarm the Cat. Julian's sword met his with a deafening clang, the two Witchers grunted, their faces flushed red with exertion, as their blades danced between their bodies. Julain sprung away, his sleek body soaring into the frigid air to attack the white-haired Witcher from above. Geralt swiftly lunged, catching the man in his descent, one of his large scarred hands wrapping around Julian's throat. He brought his sword up, the cold steel of it kissed the covered skin of his thigh as he slammed Julian into the snowy ground. 

The younger Witcher groaned in pain, back arching away from the frozen ground beneath him, his blue eyes glaring into Geralt's warm golden orbs as the Wolf held him in place. Julian rolled his eyes and grunted as he slapped the top of Geralt's hand, yielding the fight. The Wolf rose, the warmth of his body receding from Julian’s. Towering above the younger man, his large shadow engulfed Julian as he reached a hand out in offering to the other Witcher.  Heat burned in their iris' as Julian's delicate hand entwined itself with Geralt's own larger one, allowing the man to pull Julian to his feet, their chests heaving as their breaths mingled in the meagre space separating them. "Thank you" Julian whispered, his warm breath mixed with the cold air surrounding them to form puffs of white clouds. 

"I broke your bed," Geralt grumbled quietly. Julian laughed gently, his eyes sparkling with fondness as he stared disbelievingly at the man in front of him.  

"What the fuck?" Lambert asked loudly, a few steps away from them where he now stood accompanied by a sniggering Vesemir and a smiling Eskel. Lambert's face was twisted in disgust as he looked between his brother and Julian. 

Julian turned on him with a mocking smirk; he shivered slightly as his Geralt's large frame was no longer sheltering him from the cold wind.  "He fucked me straight through the frame," Julian stated, with no further explanation. 

Geralt's jaw dropped, a blush colouring his cheeks as he stared at the Cat. Lambert’s face morphed into a look of betrayal as he glared at Geralt, whose blush intensified under the scrutiny.

"Oh Julek, my dear boy I have missed your vulgar humour," Vesemir gasped out between fits of laughter. The Wolves turned to look at him incredulously, it finally dawned on them just how well their mentor knew the young Cat. "Geralt, since it appears to be your fault the boy doesn't have a bed he will share yours for tonight." Geralt hummed his agreement, his eyes flickering between Julian and Vesemir. 

Julian stepped forward embracing the eldest Wolf without a care for the three sets of eyes peering at them. Julian looked up at the man's aged face both their eyes clouded with emotions. Vesemir's hand came up to cup the Cat’s cheek. "You look so much like your father," Vesemir croaked, pulling the younger Witcher into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Now Geralt, Julek, go get cleaned up and off to bed, you two are making breakfast in the morning," Vesemir playfully smirked as he pushed Julian towards Geralt. The Cat slipped on the icy ground but just before he fell a corded arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him up firmly. He blushed fiercely as his back came into contact with a now-familiar chest, Geralt's arm curled protectively around Julian's waist. 

"Gross," Lambert muttered as he stormed away from the pair. Eskel and Vesemir trailed behind the hot-headed Witcher, both chuckled together as they walked. 

"Let's go," Geralt said. He pushed Julian away from himself, the icy air filling the gap where Geralt's torso had previously warmed his skin. Julian shook his head in disbelief; the Wolf was a strange mixture of hot and cold. Most people either liked him or they didn't, but when it came to Geralt, Julian was genuinely baffled as to which category the White Wolf fell into.

"As you wish, my dear," Julian murmured as he trailed behind Geralt, his mind a swirling mess of thoughts.

#geraskier fanfiction #geraskier #witcher jaskier

[diary-of-deadweight]

Strawberry pocky is the best pocky.

Paring: Bakugou x reader

Summary: getting pressured into doing the pocky game with Bakugou sure is a confidence boost *types in sarcasm*

Tw: swearing cuz Bakugou. And badly rushed writting.

“Just do it!” Mina exclaimed, trying -and failing- to shove some strawberry coated pocky sticks into your hand while attempting to convince you to grow some balls and do the pocky game with Bakugou, who was currently in his room doing whatever, you didn’t bother to ask as you respect the private time of others then most of your classmates, “ it’s only a game, you just over thinks things too much and forget to relax sometimes and gain the confidence to do what you want to do without hesitation,” “umm Mina...” “and your road to confidence starts here!” The pinkette cuts you off as she knocked on Bakugou’s door, shoved the box of pocky in your hand and bolted down the hall like a cartoon character off of looney toons, leaving you dumbfounded at what the fuck just happened in the spam of less then an hour, unaware of the hand that stretched out from the open doorway, grasping at your forearm causing you to squeak in shock before being pulling in just as fast as the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Mina, maybe we should just leave them be and let them do it when they’re ready instead of pretending to be Cupid in hopes of making the process faster,” said Sero from his spot between Denki and Kirishima to Mina who was keeping a keen eye on Bakugou’s room with hawk like vision, “Bakugou ain’t really that in tune with his emotions and (y/n) is always uncertain or very avoidant when it comes to relationships.”

“I’m hungry can I go?” Denki whined, throwing his body onto Sero’s lap dramatically, clutching his stomach as it growled loud enough for the four friends to hear it in it’s entirety.

“Mina, I’m sure your heart was in the right place but...what is this going to prove?” Kirishima asked as he looked at the time on his phone and hissed through his teeth before showing Denki and Sero who looked over at him in worry and repeated the hiss between their own teeth this time as they saw what flashed across the screen.

‘9:45’

15 minutes till Aizawa calls curfew.

Mina didn’t answer any of their questions as her sights remained on that damn door with a burning determination.

“It makes me wonder if you’ve ever in your life ever used the word ,that was created for these types of situations, it’s ‘no’” The scarlet eyed Pomeranian told you as he was clearing up his desk from his studying so he wouldn’t loose anything vital and didn’t make him out to be a total slob, tossing away the empty box of strawberry pocky you both clammed down on when you explained how were forcibly dragged up til present time, he looked up to where you were when he heard no reply of ‘I don’t like hurting peoples feelings’ come from your mouth to see why that was.

‘He’s got me there, when HAS there been a time I ever told someone no, he probably thinks I’m a push over with no backbone or a people pleaser, a complete suck up, a coward, the biggest wuss in U.A!’

“It’s Mina, I couldn’t say no to her and her puppy dog eyes Bakugou. I swear she has me under an obedience spell or something.” You rambled on as you twiddled your fingers, a habit you picked up whenever you were placed under pressure, overwhelmed or nervous to an anxious extent, refusing to make eye contact with the boisterous male who was making his way over to you with a oddly calm front, not saying anything as he let you ramble for as long as you need before wrapping you in his strong, warm arms, your muscles automatically relaxed as you sighed in relief, resting your heavy head in the crook of his neck as his intoxicatingly sweet scent puts your racing mind at ease. You felt safe, comforted, and at ease within his arms as you felt yourself slowly give way to enticing offer of sleep as you didn’t get any decent sleep last night.

“Your overthinking again idiot, all I’m saying is that you have the ability to say no but you seem to have the need to bend over backwards just to get into someone’s good graces when in actuality that’s not the case, I just don’t want you getting taken advantage of.” Bakugou said gruffly, his chin perched on top of your head, his arms around your waist and upper back, his calloused hands soothingly rubbing patterns into your clothed form, “Raccoon eyes shouldn’t have pressured you to do anything your not comfortable with, she goes overboard without realising the heart being done until it’s too late.”

You didn’t say anything as your mind was too relaxed to formate any words that isn’t just incoherent babbling, you just snuggled further into him, having trouble keeping your heavy weighed eyelids that beg you for decent sleep for once and you didn’t have the strength within you to resist the temptation much longer so before you knew it, your eyes were closed in an instant and your body felt like led as your breathing evened out, fanning across his neck and the sensation of added weight upon him made him realise that you fell asleep within his arms, which he would most defiantly hold against you the next day as a means seeing you blush redder the the reddest rose as he found it really cute, he knew he couldn’t stand like this all night so he decided to let you sleep in his room for tonight then carry you all the way over to your own dorm, where you will most likely be ambushed by Mina who would ask if you got any lip action, making you more uncomfortable you already were.

He picked you up bridal style and got you tucked in comfortable as he mentally thanked god that you were already in comfortable clothing, that would’ve been a very weird thing to explain if you woke up to him tugging off your pants, it would give off the wrong impression that’s for certain, he went into the bathroom to change into some comfortable wear before big spooning you, completely spent from the events today brought.

So...did you guys kiss?” Mina asked you while you were chugging on some orange juice, almost chocking on it in the process as you looked around the common room in case someone overheard your conversation but it seems that everyone was too busy immersed with their own conversations to even bother ease-dropping on someone else’s conversation, their mothers didn’t raise no distressful, nosy bitches.

“Ummmm we-ugh”

‘Say something or else she’ll make you go through it again!’

“Stop rummaging your nose in other people’s business raccoon eyes.” Your savour Bakugou told the eccentric pinkette as he plopped down on the seat to your left, casually tossing his arm around your waist, drawing you close into his side, making you blush furiously as Mina could only look on with wide sparkling eyes as if she was meeting Justin Timberlake, trying so hard not to scream at the top of her lungs like a fan girl at a Justin Bieber concert as she dashed out of her seat across from you over to where Kiri, Denki and Sero were sat, rambling about how her plan worked, giving you some peace and quiet for now as that won’t last long the second you both get to class.

“We’re dating now, got that idiot?” The scarlet eyed tsundere told you straight forwardly, poking his fork into his breakfast, shoving it into his mouth.

“Sounds alright to me, I’m not complaining.” You said softly, grateful to have some pressure taken off of your shoulders as you snuggled into his side as a blush coated his face up to his ears.

#bnha fic #anime fic #bakugou katauki x reader #katsuki bakugou imagines #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki imagines #bakugou katsuki imagine #katsuki bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #my hero acadamia imagines #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x reader #bnha #mha #my writting #anime imagines #anime imagine #anime x reader

[98prilla]

Turned

Next

Previous

AO3

...

The silence was tense and awkward as Patton sat beside Virgil at the kitchen table, across from Remy, who’s posture was carefully loose and carefree. He occasionally caught a flicker of Remy’s eyes looking at him from over his dark glasses, and Virgil was still squeezing his hand. He could feel the nervous, angry energy radiating from Virgil, and the longer the silence the more tense it got, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

 “So… you know Virgil, huh?” He asked. Wrong thing to say. Virgil tensed, and Remy frowned, before it slid into a smirk.

 “Oh babes, that’s funny. So you haven’t told them about us, hmm?”

 “Shut up.” Virgil muttered warningly, only causing Remy’s smirk to grow, something hard in his eyes.

 “So what do they know, Virg? Have you told them that you’re An-“

 “SHUT UP, REMY!” Virgil yelled, slamming his hands on the table and jumping out of his chair so fast it toppled over, eyes burning.

 “Guess that answers that question. Imma take it as ‘no’?” Remy asked, sickly sweet, leaning back so his chair was balanced on the two back legs, feet on the table as he raised a brow, sipping his drink.

 “That isn’t who I am, anymore. It isn’t who I ever wanted to be. It’s what Janus made of me.” Virgil growled, and Remy scoffed.

 “Please. How long has it been, since you used any magic? Seven, eight years now?”

 “So?”

 “So, how do you think I found you, when you’ve been ever so careful not to leave a trace? You made a pact, you made a bond, and no matter how far you run or how well you hide, there’s no out. You’re bound to me, and to him, no matter how much you wanna pretend otherwise.” Remy replied.

 Patton gasped as Remy waved his hand, revealing a faint, glowing violet thread that reached from around Virgil’s right wrist to Remy’s, another thread extending from his left wrist and out through the walls. Remy had another thread leading away as well, both of them golden, though Virgil’s glowed much fainter, much thinner, than Remy’s. Patton looked down at himself, surprised to find a nearly clear string attached to his own wrist, though it hung limply, clearly not active. Virgil snapped and the glowing threads vanished, leaving him glowering down at Remy.

“Then go find him! Clearly you and your magical prowess should have no trouble finding the snake in the grass. Just be careful where you step and you’ll be fine!” Remy hissed out a breath, getting to his feet as well, anger flashing across his face for the first time.

 “Were you not listening, or are you just that much of a stupid bitch? He got taken. He’s probably in their nest right now, meaning It’d be suicide for me to go in alone after him, not to mention if they’ve thralled or turned him by now! So unless you want Janus to become like It-“ Remy gestured to Patton, who flinched back, and Virgil growled, lightning flashing in his eyes and crackling across his palms.

 “One more word, Remy, I dare you to say one single more word-“ Startling blue flared to life in Remy’s eyes as he set aside his drink, stepping forwards. Virgil stood firm, refusing to move, refusing to let Remy get between himself and Patton.

 “What happened to you, Virg? You used to be strong. Now you won’t even let me do our job.”

 “He’s not a job, he’s a person. Not everything that’s different is a monster, Remy. If you haven’t figured that out yet you need to grow the fuck up, and step the fuck back. You’re in my house, Sleep.” Remy’s eyes flickered under his glasses, about to say something else, stopped by the sound of the door opening.

 “We’re baaaack! Miss us, heart attack tonight and sweet fang?” Virgil stepped back, letting out a small, relieved sigh. He needed the others, he couldn’t do this right now, he couldn’t handle Remy, right now.

 “Roman, surely that was a little ‘much’, perhaps they were still sleeping.”

 “Then they have been woken by my dulcet tones.” Virgil huffed, rolling his eyes.

 “In the kitchen. With a little situation.” Instantly, Roman sprinted into the room, managing to smooth over his obvious panic when he saw everyone ok, doing a slight double take at the stranger at the table.

 “What is this situation?” Logan asked, much calmer, stepping out from behind Roman, though his eagle sharp gaze never strayed from Remy, seemingly burning into his soul.

 “He’s the situation.”

 “He seems to not be causing any immediate harm.” Virgil scowled at Logan’s words.

 “That’s the problem. You don’t see him coming, then he explodes when your back is turned.”

 “Me? Oh, that’s a laugh and a half.” Virgil flinched, taking a step back. He could remember a dozen times he’d heard that phrase, a dozen times it was said in jest, in frustration, in sarcasm. “You’re the one who turned your back on us. You’re the one who left us to deal with the fallout. You’re the one who wasn’t there so Jan got taken!”

 “THAT WASN’T MY FAULT! You always go poking your nose places it doesn’t belong, you always leap before you look, you never consider the consequences of your actions, you and him both always think you know best, when you don’t know anything at all!” Virgil shouted back, fists clenched at his sides.

 “That’s why you are the third member, to keep us from getting into this mess!”

 “Don’t put this on me! You never listened when I was there! You never bothered to actually care about me! Janus just cared about my power, and you just cared about his approval, and neither one of you cared if what you were doing was right!” Remy let out a harsh laugh, throwing his glasses aside as he rubbed his face.

 “Oh, you are unbelievable! He took you in, he saved you, he taught you everything you know, and you think he didn’t care? You think I didn’t care? You think it didn’t hurt, watching you walk away from everything we’d built? Why do you think we never filled your spot? Because Janus was still waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and come home!”

 “I am home. So you can either accept that and stop berating me and my choices and my family, or you can leave.” Remy snatched his glasses, nearly crushing them in his fist, a wicked smile on his face, that had Virgil’s stomach sinking and a chill running up his spine.

 “Fine. When you change your mind, you know where to find me. You can change your name all you want, Virgil, but that doesn’t change who you are. You know as well as I do, that you’ll always be part of this coven. You’ll always be Anxiety.” Remy vanished in a puff of smoke, and Virgil stared dumbly where he’d just been standing for a few long moments, before he pressed a hand over his mouth, breath speeding in and out, heart rate racing.

…

Anxiety. The name echoed in his ears, something he’d tried to forget, someone he’d tried so hard to pretend he’d never been, someone who had been terrible and awful and cruel, someone who would have killed Patton on the spot had they met, regardless of his cheery smile or bubbly personality, regardless of the fact that he was an ethical vampire, regardless of the fact that he had people at home who loved him.

 Anxiety wouldn’t have hesitated. Anxiety had done it before, after all, dozens of times. Vampires, werewolves, wraiths, anything non-human was fair game, no matter how well integrated into human society they were, they had still been a threat, a ticking time bomb waiting to blow, and needed to be disarmed before they could do damage.

 Anxiety had been saved from the streets when he was a child by Deceit. Adopted into his home, raised with Sleep as an older brother, quickly becoming part of their Coven. He’d excelled at magic, a quick, fast learner. Sleep, his ability to control dreams, to get into people’s minds as they slept and poke around, to hypnotize and trance beings into submission, finding weaknesses and information. Deceit, with his ability to twist lies into truth, to trap people under his siren spell of words, until you would do whatever he said, even if it meant slitting your own throat. Anxiety, his power to move unseen through the shadows, to slip between them and use them, to make his enemies’ fears come to life before their eyes.

 Anxiety had been molded, raised, used, by Deceit. He knew this now, he recognized the brainwashing, all the small lies that Deceit had instilled into him, he’d spent years trying to parse out the truth, trying to get that voice out of his head, until only his own was left, he’d spent so much time trying so hard to trust the others, because Deceit was always there, whispering that he was better off alone, whispering that he wasn’t worth their time, whispering how could anyone love you? If only they knew what you’d done, they would never have let you in.

 Anxiety had worked so hard to stop being Anxiety, and to just be Virgil. And now, now it was all crumbling down. Because their coven had a reputation. No one had known their identities, no one still did, outside of the three of them, but everyone knew and feared the trio of monster slayers, whispered about them in the night, afraid their words would summon the coven to their door, everyone knew the stories, the speed and brutality with which they dispatched their kills, the count higher every day.

 He’d heard the rumors start, after he left, that someone had finally gotten the upper hand, finally slain the shadow Anxiety, and he let them think it. He didn’t care, it was true, in a way, Anxiety was dead, but not at a monster’s hands. He’d been killed by himself, the moment he’d stepped out that door and ran, not looking back. The moment he’d sworn not to use his magic ever again, so they couldn’t trace him, so they couldn’t call on him, so they couldn’t summon him and use him.

 It had worked. The bond was still there, would always be there, but Remy hadn’t been able to summon him. Hadn’t been able to call on their bond to force him to help, it was weak, though his use of magic this morning had no doubt given it a little bit of life, not enough to matter. He wouldn’t feed that bond, he wouldn’t give it any strength, he wouldn’t let it get there. He couldn’t.

 But they wouldn’t want him anymore. Not now that knew what he was, the monster, he was, not when Pat was a vampire, and they would expect him to snap any moment like a spring coiled too tight, not when there was so much innocent blood on his hands, not when he could be used to find them, to follow them, not if Remy was insistent and kept coming around, not if Remy found Janus-

 His stomach flopped at the very idea of seeing him again, of being face to face with him, of his honey sweet words infecting his mind, and he nearly retched at the thought of Janus spinning those lies against the others, driving them all insane. He couldn’t watch that happen, he couldn’t withstand that voice, he would crumble, instantly crumble, and all of the work he’d done wouldn’t mean a thing, because the second those shining gold eyes met his he’d be lost.

 And if he couldn’t stand against Janus, then Patton-

 So what, if Janus was taken? Maybe he was getting a taste of his own medicine. Maybe Remy was better off without him, with time, his mind would clear and he’d see how they did more harm than good, maybe everything would be fine.  That’s what Anxiety would have done, after all, stood back and watched. Even if Janus was only thralled, that was still a threat to the group’s security, the vampire could use that bond against them, so there would be no coming back even if they rescued him, unless they killed whatever vampire had used him. Which they would, of course, solving that problem.

 He was considering this. Gods, he was actually considering this, why was he actually considering this, why did he even give a shit, after everything, why did he still care?

 “virgil?” Patton’s voice, small and hesitant, reached through the fog of panic clouding his mind, though he flinched away from Patton’s touch. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and he couldn’t look up, couldn’t see their faces, would stave off the rejection and fear and horror as long as he could. He could feel the sob building in his throat, and he needed to leave, he needed to go, he needed to be anywhere else when he fell apart, because they shouldn’t be obligated to comfort him, when they were just going to kick him out later anyway. He could hear ringing in his ears, could feel something wet on his face, but it was distant and wrong and he needed out, he was backed into a corner and he needed out.

 So he did what he always did best. He ran.

 He shoved past the others, sprinting down the hall, slamming the door shut and locking it, before scrambling back, eyes darting wildly for somewhere to hide, because this was too open and his mind was screaming ‘danger, not safe,’ when his gaze locked on the closet. He pulled open the sliding door, shoving it closed behind him as he sunk to the ground in the deepest, darkest corner, finally letting a muffled sob tear from his lungs as he curled into himself.

#sanders sides #tss #virgil sanders #sympathetic virgil #roman sanders #sympathetic roman #patton sanders #sympathetic patton #vampire patton #hunter au #logan sanders #sympathetic logan #remy sanders #sympathetic remy #mentions of deceit #sympathetic deceit #eventual villain remus #unsympathetic remus #virgil angst #angst #eventual happy ending #panic attack

[random-imagines-blog]

Feral Roots {M Shadows One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3387 Summary: The Full Moon is coming up, and the leader of your wolf pack needs some stress relief. Notes: Smut, Breeding kink.

The full moon was only three days away, and all of the pack were beginning to get antsy. Tension was brewing beneath the surface, and even a hint of sarcasm was enough to send the men biting at each others necks. Your own body felt like it was starting to betray you, giving into urges that were not all that convenient. It didn’t help that the Alpha of the pack, M, had his dark eyes on you most of the time these days. It was those eyes that made you feel detached from your own will, and want to submit fully to his. However, you didn’t like to give in too easily. He liked a challenge, and you enjoyed giving him one.

You were one of the young women who worked mostly on cooking duty. Roasting big pieces of meat, and adding in some vegetables because you were all still partly human, took up a big portion of the day. Wolves needed their protein - especially with the stressful change coming up. You had a full pig roasting on a spit, and you were making sure that it was being turned properly. “What’s cookin, good lookin?” One of the main pack came over to you, the smell tempting his nostrils.

“Don’t you know a pig when you see one, Syn?” You asked the long haired man. He snorted with laughter and took a seat on the grass to really take in the view. “You never come out here while we’re cooking, what’s up?”

“Shads is in a mood,” He rolled his eyes. “You know what he’s like this time around. He needs to get fucking laid. Why don’t you go help him out, you are his favorite.”

“Cooking duty,” You said, smiling slightly at being called the favorite. It gave you certain advantages - like you could get away with more things. As a woman in the pack, you were pretty respected. You could carry on the line. You protected. You took care of everyone. But you still liked to get up to some mischief at times. “Why don’t you give it a try? You’re rather pretty yourself with those cheekbones. Most of them women here envy you.”

You normally wouldn’t have been able to get away with saying something like that.

Syn, or Brian as was his true name, glared at you, then went back to looking at the meat. You could almost see the drool coming out of his mouth. “It’s going to be another couple of hours,” You told him. “I mean, if you’re willing to help out with peeling the potatoes, I can make sure that you get a prime piece.”

“I’m in,” He said. You got him situated with a bucket of potatoes and a knife to peel them with, then went back to your post of turning meat. It was the slow roast that helped the meat taste so good - perfectly juicy, just the way that the werewolves liked it.

-

Being part of a pack meant living in a very communal sort of place. It was more like a trailer park than anything else that you  could describe, just inside a large privately-owned forest. There was a rather large house on the property, which the strongest of the pack shared, while the rest lived in rather luxurious trailers dotted around the land. It helped you all to feel closer to nature. And it made it easier for the nights when you were doomed to shift.

This meant that all of you ate together.

Picnic tables were strewn around, some with umbrellas to stay in the shade, but most without. The strongest of the pack, the main five, sat together at the biggest one, and their plates were often piled high. Syn seemed to be relishing this meal more than usual, probably because he had a hand in making it. You sat with some of the other women at a shaded table, your plate still full of food but not nearly as much as the men’s. You ate what you needed and left what you didn’t for the others, such as the kids who were running around playing after eating. People were talking, it was a wonderful day until...

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” M yelled, throwing his plate on the ground, half eaten chunks of food flying across the grass.

“M!” You shouted, getting to your feet. The whole pack went quiet, staring at the large man who had stood up and was glaring at Zacky, who was one of his best friends. You left the picnic table behind to go to his, and pick up the plate which had surprisingly not shattered. “Go and take a shower and cool off,” You said, looking up at him, setting the plate on the table.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do-” M started, but you growled at him before he could call you a name.

“You’re scaring the pups,” You said, motioning your head to one of the younger kids who ran to hide behind his mom at the yelling. Tempers may fly but swearing wasn’t something that happened around the young ones. “Now go inside while I clean your mess up.”

“Fine,” M said, slamming his hand on top of the table, sending all of the cutlery flying up into the air. He stepped out from the picnic table and stormed towards the house, clearly in a bad mood. Were this a cartoon, you’d be seeing steam coming from his ears, or a black swirl atop his head.

“Now why did you have to go and antagonize him like that?” You snapped at the raven-haired man.

“What, I’m not allowed to speak?” Zacky asked, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface.

“You knew what you said was going to get a reaction,” Syn chimed in, wiping his mouth with his napkin as if the tantrum hadn’t happened. “It’s your own fault, dumbass.”

“Let’s go take a swim, cool you down,” Johnny said, getting onto his feet, pulling the dark haired man towards the lake that was in the forest that you all often used for bathing and exercise. You got back down to the ground and started to pick up the bits of food so you could properly dispose of it in the compost, shaking your head and muttering about what idiots men were.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after him,” Brooks said, bending down to help you out.

“You’re right, it should be Zacky cleaning this,” You sighed, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand once everything was back on the table. “But we all  know he won’t lift a finger.”

“You should go see M,” Syn said, back to eating the meat off the bone. “He’s pissed.”

“Well now I am too. I hate when you guys scare the pups. Seriously, it’s a hard time for everyone right now. No need to act like children.”

“I hate to say it but he has a good reason to be mad this time,” Syn told you, making your curiosity peak.

“I don’t care if he gets mad or not, he has to keep his temper in front of the kids,” You said, not backing down. Syn put up his hands in innocence, throwing in the towel on the conversation. “I am going to go check on him though, and make sure that he’s alright.”

You didn’t miss the sexual motion that Syn made to Brooks, but you decided to say nothing about it this time. The last thing that pack needed was another argument during dinner. You just gave him the finger, then walked up to the house, slipping in through the back door. Other than M, it should be empty.

You followed the sounds of grunting to the built-in gym. Most of the pack just used the woods - strong branches for pull-ups, balance training, logs for strength etc - but M seemed to like punching bags over bark. He was working up a sweat, clad only in his shorts, hands not wrapped or anything, going to town on the bag.

“Do you want me to get you a picture of Zacky’s face? I have one on my dartboard,” You joked, coming up behind and held the bag steady. He kept hitting it, but his eyes averted to you and he was a little more careful. “You should at least put something on your hands, you’re going to make them raw.”

One good punch sent the bag out of your hands and it flew a dozen feet and landed on the mats. “He’s an asshole.”

“I know - but why in particular today, hmm?” You took an ice pack out of the freezer that was above a fridge that held energy drinks and water bottles, and lightly pressed it onto M’s knuckles. The discarded bag could wait.

“He says that it’s about time that you get bred,” M said, anger coming through in his voice. You were a bit surprised by how defensive he had gotten over that topic. You bit down on your lower lip in thought as you nursed M’s hand, attempting to stop the swelling before it started.

“I mean, he has a point,” You said, gingerly. “I would love to have a pup or two of my own by now. And you’re the reason that I don’t, M. I know we have our thing going on but you gotta drop me as a favorite eventually and let me find a mate.”

“Don’t you fucking start,” M said, tearing his hand away from you. “I’m not going to let you go and be some stupid mutt’s mate. You’re too good for everyone here.”

“As true as that is,” You started, attempting to lighten the mood, “-that’s my fate here. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner I can get on with it. And I think the only reason you’re mad is because Zacky wants to be the one to do it.”

“He’ll never have you, y/n. We both know that you could never love him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else in the pack who could be good to me. I deserve a mate, M.”

“And you never stopped to fucking consider me, did you?” M said, his voice going softer than it had before. You squeezed your hand around the ice pack in an attempt to keep you grounded. You never had this conversation with him before although you had always hoped... He never gave any sort of indication that he wanted you for anything other than sex.

“You’re just feeling the full moon coming, that’s what is making you say that,” You said, your voice going just as soft as his had. You tossed the pack onto the table, then approached the muscular man, putting your cold hands on his chest. He hissed slightly at the sensation but didn’t back away. “But if that’s how you really feel, we’ll talk about it after, okay?”

“It’s not the moon fever,” He insisted, grabbing you roughly around your waist before you could depart. “I may be jealous because of what that shithead said, but you’re both right. You need a mate and it’s time that you’re bred.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

“I’m saying that I want you as my mate, for the rest of my life, and I want to put my baby in your stomach.”

“You can’t take that back, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Matt said, smirking, his bad mood seemingly to have dissipated. Roughly, he dragged you to bench where he often lifted weights, got you onto your knees and bent you over it. His hand went through your hair, then grabbed it and held it at the base of your neck. “I can smell you,” He said, sighing happily.

And it was probably true. He had very keen senses and from the moment he hinted at wanting to be your mate, you had felt yourself becoming aroused. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, resting it on your back, and pulled your panties down to be around your knees. The cool air conditioning hit your skin and caused goosebumps up and down your thighs.

“Are you going to keep it slow or are you going to make me scream?” You asked, smiling though he couldn’t see your face. It was pressed against the bench, cheek down. He pulled at your hair harder, causing your head to jerk up.

You don’t know when he had the time to push his sweatpants down and get onto his own knees, but he had - and he started to thrust into you roughly from behind. His one hand was still tangled up in your hair while the other was holding your dress onto your back, keeping you steady. Your mouth opened unwillingly at the sheer force and suddenness of it all, but it certainly wasn’t to complain. You moaned loud enough to feel the bench rumble beneath you. He kept pushing your head up so that he could hear you louder. He loved the sounds that you made. He craved them. He yanked your arms behind your back for more leverage, went quicker and quicker - and then began to slow down. This wasn’t supposed to be just some quick fuck. Five minutes isn’t enough for stress release.

You took in deep breaths of air as he slowed, all of the jostling around had made all of your breath leave your lungs. He let go of your hair so you rested back down against the cool bench. Beadlets of sweat were already resting on top of the leather from your forehead.  He left you for a moment, and you felt bare. Empty. Cold. But when he came back after only thirty seconds, he had a jump rope and started to tie it around your wrists. You trusted him entirely. You were still in euphoria from being asked to be his mate. That combined with the knowledge that he was going to give you a child made you entirely pliable in his hands.

He grabbed hold of your shoulders and entered himself again, making you cry out. There was never any foreplay with M. It was a lucky thing that you were always aroused while around him. He lightly slapped your cheek, then shoved his index and middle fingers into your mouth. You started to suck on them immediately, knowing what he wanted. You relaxed against him, feeling safe, feeling loved.

“Oh my God,”  You cried out, raising your ass as high as it could go.

“Yes,” M hissed. “You’re mine. I’m going to breed you like the bitch you are.”

After another couple minutes of rough thrusting on the bench, he pulled out again, and helped you up to your feet, holding onto your binded wrists as if they were handcuffs. He paraded - yes, paraded - you in front of the windows and over to the sofa. You weren’t ashamed at all. Nudity was perfectly normal among the pack, since it was a natural way of being. You were nude when you transformed into a wolf, and nude when you came back. It was rarely considered to be a sexual thing, though it felt like it now, with the way that M was holding onto you. The way that he threw you down onto the couch. He didn’t go straight back into you, but rather, rubbed your ass and took in the sight of your pussy on display. He spanked each cheek, then grabbed them roughly.

You were on your stomach once again, a position that you were finding yourself in quite a bit today. M spread your legs then went back in with a satisfied groan. You were whimpering into the couch cushions as he entered you at a slight angle, riding you hard. He lowered himself, his weight on you, his hand covering your mouth making it a bit harder for you to breathe. He liked that. He enjoyed the struggle. It was rough, it was crushing. It was enough to take you out of your head.

M was groaning and moaning, as his face was turning red from the exertion. He wanted to make sure to give you the best and the strongest seed. He slid off, the sweat between your bodies turning it into a slip and slide, and flipped you around so you were on your back. Your hands were still tied up behind you and it was extremely uncomfortable, but the strain just added more to the experience. You gasped as you saw M’s face looming over you, his body between your spread legs. Goddamn, he was so fucking beautiful.

There was no doubt about the fact that there would be evidence on your body of this for days to come. His fingertips pressed into your neck, the binding on your wrists causing chafing. You might not be able to cross your legs for a few days with how hard he was going on you. But oh, how blissful it was in this moment.

“Cum in me, M, give me a baby,” You moaned, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. Or even over his muscles. The sheen of sweat over his muscles gave him an otherworldly glow. There was a reason why he was the Alpha and why everyone put their complete trust in him. He had a silent power hidden behind those eyes that were staring into yours right now. This wasn’t just a rough fuck, though he was squeezing your neck tighter than before.

Your head was hanging off of the side of the sofa as he continued to plunge in and then pull out. You saw love and respect in his eyes. You were his mate now - the bond was formed, and it would be cemented once his sperm was inside of you.

“Take it, make our baby strong,” M said, throwing his hand back. He let go of your throat, which brought color back to your vision, to play with your clit as he got closer to his climax. As your own came, overpowering you with white waves from head to toe, M’s hit him. He shuddered, releasing himself inside of you with a beastial growl worthy of a bear rather than a wolf.

You struggled to get your breath back, laying limp against the sofa. You would have to disinfect it before the rest of the guys came in, but th sex was worth it. Your chest was heaving when M slowly pulled out, taking his time to make sure that his cum didn’t seep out of you. “Do you feel better now?” You asked, bringing your head up onto the couch to be a little more comfortable. Your eyes caught onto the sight of his cock, still mostly stiff but starting to soften. He was still so big, it was no wonder why you were so sore and unable to move. “Enough stress release?”

“I meant what I said,” M said, finally moving and helped you adjust so your whole body was on the couch, and untied your hands. He knew modesty wasn’t an issue, but he draped a throw blanket over top of you. “I want you to be my mate.”

You snuggled into the couch, taking your arms out from beneath the blanket to hold his hand. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

M chuckled, looking away from you to the windows, seeing the cleaning going on outside. It was an after dinner ritual. “Both.”

“Silly man,” You shook your head. “Go get something to eat. You’re going to need your strength back after that.”

“Taking care of me already?” M asked, getting to his feet.

“Uhh - I’ve been doing it for ages, thanks for noticing.”

“That’s my girl.”

#M Shadows #M Shadows x reader #M Shadows oneshot #Avenged Sevenfold #Avenged Sevenfold oneshot #matt sanders #matt sanders x reader #matt sanders oneshot #oneshot #oneshots #request #mshadows

[danetobelieve]

Hail Mary || Marley and Winston

When: 20/10/2020 Who: @detectivedreameater & @danetobelieve Where: The Police Station Summary: Bloody Mary gets bloody annoying! Warnings: n/a  

Winston was once again working late. No surprises there. They found that the job was more time consuming then what they had been sold but they weren’t complaining. Keeping busy stopped them from worrying about … well everything. It was dark outside of the window of the breakroom as Winston slipped in to make themselves a hot drink that would keep them going. The mirror on the opposite wall to where Winston was stood held a slightly dirty visage of Winston and they weren’t completely thrilled with how exhausted they looked. Yawning, they scooped up a mug of coffee and turned at the sound of the door behind them opening. “Oh,” Winston flashed Marley a quick smile, “hey marley, are you doing okay? Working late?” 

Things had calmed down for a minute finally, but Marley found relaxing just wasn’t her style. There was still so much to do, so much to prepare for. Even with Tommy dead and Roy on his heels, they still needed to be careful. Methodical. Being home alone felt...strange. But Roy or any one of his other goons could come after them at any time, so staying with Anita also wasn’t an option. So it was the precinct, instead. Marley looked up from the file she’d been staring at for ten minutes and realized she’d zoned out, shaking her head. It was time for some more coffee. She grabbed her mug and headed for the break room-- everyone else, save for the nightshift boys downstairs, had gone home for the day long ago. So it was a surprise when she heard Winston’s voice, stopping in the breakroom doorway. “That’s Detective Stryder to you,” she said once she’d recuperated, frowning. But she wasn’t really mad and her voice reflected that. Winston was one of the only people here who she let see her soft side. They’d wormed their way in somehow. She gestured at them. “Alright, hand over the coffee. Quit hogging it.”

Laughing gently, Winston finished pouring their own coffee and added a generous helping of sugar to it. Something told them that they would need the sweetness to get through tonight. They still had to work out how to convince Agatha that the disappearing man on the footage hadn’t found some way of hacking all of the cameras or they had to accept that it was a losing fight and take matters into their own hands. Either way it was easier said then done. “Oh my apologies detective, I should’ve known better then to address you with your name.” The nice thing about not being the intern was that you could get away with a little more. Besides they had an understanding with Marley and their relationship was certainly better then it was with many of Winston’s other colleagues. “Here you go,” they said passing over the jug of coffee before turning to glance in the mirror once more, “you’re working late tonight, I didn’t realise you were on a shif-“ their sentence fell short as they caught sight of something in the mirror. 

“Thank you,” Marley quipped, rolling her eyes. The door shut behind her and she hardly even noticed. Made her way over towards them, taking the pot gratefully, ready to shoot back her lame excuse when Winston stopped mid-sentence. They were looking somewhere and Marley turned to look, too, but stopped short, coffee pot in hand. She froze. There was someone else in the mirror. “Don’t move,” she said to Winston in a low voice, slowly moving to set the pot down. She inched herself between them and the mirror-- the figure in the mirror-- hoping she hadn’t seen them yet. But in the next moment, hands were reaching through the glass. “Oh, shit!” she hissed, jumping back as a hand swiped for her. “Run!”

Freezing in place. Winston had learned enough in their time within the supernatural world to learn that sometimes you just did what you were told by other people who were more experienced then you. Marley was one of those people. For a moment there was nothing. Marley inches towards the mirror and Winston’s heart hammered in their chest. Then Marley jerked backwards. It was like something out of a surrealist painting and Winston couldn’t help the high pitched yelp that escaped their lips as they jerked backwards. “Oh fuck, what the hell!?!” Winston could feel the sweat beading on their forehead as they headed out of the door of the break room and into the deserted and dark hallway. “What- what the fuck?! Mirrors?! Are mirrors not safe now??” Winston was wondering just what was safe now as it felt like the list was growing much much shorter as time plodded on. 

Marley followed Winston out quickly. She slammed the door shut behind them and held it in place for a moment. Whatever that thing was, she hoped it couldn’t phase through walls. Glancing back at Winson, she tried to stay calm for a moment, wracking her brain for knowledge of any creature she knew that traveled through mirrors. Too bad she couldn’t think of one. “Fuck if I kno--” she started, but was cut off mid sentence when a cold, slimy hand wrapped around her wrist. Her head swiveled quickly back to the door, expecting to see it open, or perhaps the hand coming through it or under it or something-- but instead, she saw that same woman, now reflected in the breakroom door’s window. Marley’s instincts kicked in and she turned intangible, yanking her hand away through the gnarled woman’s, stumbling backwards. “That’s not normal!” she breathed, putting her arm out and shoving Winston down the hallway. “Keep running!”

Yelping again as a hand that almost seemed to be dripping with damp wrapped around Marley’s wrist, Winston was about to try and help when Marley seemed to just phase through the hand. That was something that they would discuss later. Who knew that Marley could quite literally ghost you? Stumbling slightly as she shoved them further down the hallway, Winston wracked their brain trying to think of what the fuck this could be. The truth was that there really wasn’t that much that would explain this. They hadn’t heard of anything that would do this. “It’s definitely not fucking normal,” Winston said as they sprinted away from the door and into the now deserted bullpen of the precinct. How was she managing to reach them out of glass? It was weird, it didn’t make any sense that she could just appear in glass. What even was she. “Have you upset something that lives in glass?” Winston’s brain was racing, trying to solve this problem before it got worse. “I think, I think we’re okay.” They turned and reached over to scoop up a tablet that was sat on one of the desks, hoping that the internet would have something to offer. As they did they spotted the reflection of the woman once more, she reached out of the reflective surface of the tablet and grasped past Winston, swiping at Marley.

“You know, I generally upset a lot of people,” Marley huffed as they ran, making sure to keep herself close to Winston in case the crazy mirror lady popped out of nowhere again. “But I usually try to avoid pissing off crazy mirror women!” Each window showed their reflections, and Marley felt the hair on the back of her neck prickling, arms tingling. “We need to get back to the bullpen, I need my weapon.” As the skirted around the corner, Marley came to a stop, realizing that, perhaps, this was a mistake. How many reflective surfaces were there in the bullpen? Too many. Way too many. Winston made a grab for the tablet and Marley reached out to stop them, too little, too late. “Winston, no--” the clawed hand grabbed her wrist once more and yanked. Marley stumbled forward, shoving Winston away, and watched in muted horror as her hand disappeared into the tablet surface. “What the fuck!” she shouted, dropping the thing-- and her arm went with it, as if stuck inside. She turned herself intangible again, but her wrist remained stuck. “Get it OFF!” she shouted stepping on the thing and yanking. “Get it the fuck off!”

“What is it about crazy mirror women that makes you prioritise not pissing them off?” Winston was sure that the sarcasm wasn’t helping but defence mechanisms weren’t exactly made to be helpful. Weapons sounded like a good idea although Winston wasn’t sure what good it was going to do against reflections but there was a reason that Marley was the fighter and not Winston. Winston however realised their mistake too late. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” That was all Winston could think to say as a slimey hand reached out of the tablet and pulled Marley’s wrist into the tablet. Marley seemed to be struggling to get out but whatever it was that she was trying to do Winston could see that out wasn’t working. Fortunately it was tech, this was tech. Winston knew tech. Winston lived and breathed tech. They could do something about this, of that they were completely sure. “This is probably going to hurt and I’m really sorry about that,” reaching out Winston willed a pulse of magic through the tablet, they weren’t sure if this would work but they were hoping that whatever it was gripping Marley’s wrist would be forced to let go. Wrapping their hands underneath Marley’s armpits Winston hauled hard and pulled hoping that Marley would’ve been dislodged. 

“I just don’t want them ruining my good looks,” Marley said back, though her voice was strained. Her arm was inching further and further into the tablet and she really didn’t want to think about what might happen if it reached her shoulder. “Just do it!” she growled when Winston proclaimed what they were about to do might hurt-- because whatever it was, it wouldn’t actually hurt her. Not at night. The pulse went through and up her arm and into her head, before shooting down her spine with a jolt and she tugged, feeling Winston grab her and pull as well. With one large heave, her foot braced against the tablet, her arm came free and the two went toppling backwards, crashing into a desk. Marley shook her head of the daze, reaching out and grabbing Winston, hauling them up. “We’re leaving,” she called out, shoving them towards the stairs, “get in the stairwell! There’s no reflections in there!” She could process later that whoever this women was, she could touch Marley at night, and whoever she was, she didn’t seem interested in Winston. That was probably a good thing. Marley didn’t feel much like having to protect a kid again. 

“Let’s hope that won’t be a risk,” Winston grunted as they hauled Marley free from the tablet before crashing backwards into a desk. A dull pain lanced through Winston’s back as the desk collided with their shoulder blades.  Groaning, Winston was about to disentangle themself from Marley but she was already pulling them off the ground and pushing them towards the exit. Despite the ache of their recent collision with furniture, Winston knew that there was some sound logic in heading for an area with no reflections. Maybe they would be safe there. Though Winston wasn’t sure if this was something that they would be able to wait out or if they were going to have to undertake some form of action to try and keep them safe. Either way they weren’t sure that they wanted to find out either option. Something told them that waiting this out might not help. Panting, Winston wiped sweat off their brow after they had pressed the door to the stair way closed. “What. The. Fuck?” 

Marley collapsed into the hallway, pressing her back up against the door even as Winston threw it closed, leaning her head back against the cool metal panel. Every noise echoed so loud in the stairwell, but they had recently painted the railings matte and the walls were brick. She turned her head to look at Winston, still panting slightly. “Yeah, I was just about to ask you that,” she exhaled, running a hand through her hair. She moved away from the door finally and glanced around, double checking. “You’re the wizard here, and that was definitely some crazy ass magic shit.” She held up her arm, checking it, pulling the sleeve down-- but there was nothing strange about it. Just the marks from Morgan that were slowly healing and normal skin. She looked over at Winston and gave them a morbid half-grin. “Think she’s just collecting hot women cause she’s lonely?”

“I don’t have any answers,” Winston had been trying to think of what the fuck that could possibly be and had not come up with anything, “I’ve never come across anything that fucks with reflections, well apart from this weird hall of mirrors but that just pulled me into a mirror realm and it was more like the mirror itself was magic rather then something literally pulled me into it.” Winston sighed gently and shrugged. “I prefer the term spellcaster but fine, wizard, whatever, crazy magic shit or not I have never ever met something that could do that before and if it can just pluck people out of thin air whenever they go past a reflective surface….” Winston had to admit that they had no clue why it was targeting Marley. “Somehow your attractiveness or how perceived to be attractive you are doesn’t seem to be what would make you a target, but I don’t know for sure, who can tell for certain.” Winston chewed on their lip. “Besides, it’s not like you really want to spend the time with her there.” Winston pulled out their phone and tapped in a few searches to do with mirrors. Gulping at the result. “I’m only getting one repeated result here and I really don’t think it can be right. Of all the things that I expected to be a tale, well the only thing I’m getting is bloody mary….” 

“It was a joke, kid,” Marley said, exasperated. She huffed, stepping away from the door, glancing around. How were they going to get out of this? Winston was talking, but Marley wasn’t really listening to them. She needed to figure out how to get them out of here, because it wasn’t like they could just stay in this stairwell forever. Perhaps she could call someone to come cover some of the windows in the main hall so they could run out, but phones had reflective screens, and pulling one out would be-- “Hey! Woah, put that away!” she shouted, slapping the phone from Winston’s hands and shoving it in her pocket. “Screens, kid!” she gestured wildly, running a hand through her hair. “Phone screens are reflective and I don’t think I’ll fit into a phone if she tries to drag me in again.” She then looked over at WInston again, rubbing her head. “Okay, seriously? Bloody Mary? That can’t be right.”

“Okay well I make the jokes and you’re the competent person that stops us from getting killed…” Winston would’ve laughed but there was a bit much on their plate. Winston bit their tongue, doing their best not to chastise Marley for slapping their phone from their hand. “That’s expensive, you don’t slap phones. Is this why all of the tech that we give to the detectives and officers always comes back looking like it’s been put through the laundry?” Winston was pretty sure that some of the time it actually went through the laundry. Frowning gently, they wracked their head. Not being able to use anything that had a reflective surface was … not great. “I guess if it would happen anywhere then it would be here, the real question, at least the real one that I want answering is …. Well why is … Bloody Mary after you exactly?” Winston tried to remember who Bloody Mary was, the problem was that she was so remarkably vague and so very shrouded in folklore and superstition that Winston wasn’t sure that they’d ever heard an account of the tale of Bloody Mary that made sense on more then a single occasion. “

“Hey, my jokes are funny,” Marley said, frowning. She paced through the stairwell again, looking it up and down. There was no point going to the roof, but did they risk heading downstairs and into the lobby? “You know, it could be that our job is demanding and sometimes we get into physical altercations, but sure, laundry,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Phones are replaceable, relax.” People, however, were not. She looked back at Winston, giving a pause. They were mumbling about Bloody Mary and why she was here and why she was after Marley, but it didn’t really matter to her. She’d been chased by a demon, what was some stupid mirror ghost compared to that? She rolled her shoulders. “How about we ask those questions once we’re out of here and away from her?” she said, heading down the stairs, “C’mon, we’re gonna have to just make a break for it. If we go through the lobby, there’s only the exterior windows and the one computer screen we have to worry about. I think if we stay low and move quickly, we can make it outside.” 

Winston bit their tongue from making another snide remark. It probably wasn’t going to make things better and there was only so much ‘humour as a defense mechanism’ that could be excused. “I am sure that some of the reasons are that your job is demanding and you find yourself in physical altercations, but the truth is that I’ve found one too many pairs of headsets that have definitely got excessive water damage and look like someone forgot to take them out of their pants before they washed them.” Sighing gently, Winston was about to say that the phone might be replaceable but that was no reason to treat it badly, but again decided better of it. “You think that we can make it outside?” Winston was chewing on their lip, they wondered if there was something that they could do that would prevent the surfaces from being reflective. “I’m sure I could work out or design a spell that would prevent the surfaces from you know, reflecting, it’d only take me like thirteen maybe fourteen hours tops…” something told Winston however that Marley wasn’t going to go for that. 

“Well, I don’t do that, so don’t look at me,” Marley shrugged, “i don’t know, ask Greg. He seems like the kind of person to do that.” She glanced back at Winston, already halfway down the stairs. “Are you serious? You wanna hole up here for that long? What happens if she gets in somehow? What happens if you get hungry or have to go to the bathroom or you get hurt? We can’t afford to wait. We need to get to a car, cover the mirrors, and get out of here. Who knows, maybe she even left. Gave up on us cause she can’t get to us.” As if they would be so lucky in this town, but Marley wasn’t willing to hedge a bet on that. “Once we’re out, you can figure out a spell. Alright?”

“I wasn’t blaming you, but you know… what’s the saying … if the shoe fits right?” Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston decided to drop it. This probably wasn’t worth the fight that it required. “I mean, I just know that it is the…” Winston swallowed, perhaps now was the time for courage and not for caution. “Okay, okay, you’re right, let’s go and sneak out of here and hope that we don’t get caught by this terrible … thing. Flexing their fingers Winston looked left and then right as they cracked the door to the stairwell open. “Okay, well I can’t see anything so let’s go.” They pushed it open just wide enough for them to slip out and then in a low crouched position Winston began to creep out of the staircase. Heading towards the lobby, Winston prayed that they weren’t going to get caught. “Thirteen or fourteen hours was kind of conservative anyway.” They whispered as they headed past the first of their obstacles, a very nice looking window that overlooked the carpark. 

Marley nearly rolled her eyes, following the kid out, keeping low. “Gee, really building my confidence here,” she mumbled quietly. Kept her eyes on each place she thought a reflection might show up, hoping she was right and the ghost was going to leave them alone. Bloody Mary. Ugh. That was going to be shitty if it was true, if she was real. They were nearly to the front doors when Marley felt a chill. She barely had time to glance back over her shoulder before hands reached around her neck and pulled. “Fuck, Wins--” she tried to call out, tried to turn intangible as fast as she could, but before she knew it, her head and shoulders were swallowed by the glass window. The figure-- Bloody Mary-- still had such a tight grip on her neck, Marley could barely breathe. She jerked, trying to yank away. The world around her shimmered with a distorted wave, rippling out. She felt as if her lungs were filling with ice. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t good. She pulled back hard, planting her hands firmly on the window sill, pulling harder. 

It all happened too fast for Winston to really do that much. They swallowed in fear as they saw Marley get yanked through the window and knew that this time there was little to no chance that they would be able to pull her free. There was just too much reflective surface and she was already halfway in. Trying to breathe, they focussed on the window, focussed on the reflective surface before extending their consciousness out from them and into the glass. Muttering a few words of an incantation, they waited for a moment. For a second they saw the glass ripple before it wobbled and ejected Marley from the window. Panting, sweat beaded their brow but Winston wasn’t done, cracking the glass, they watched it shatter and forced it to evaporate into as many tiny pieces as they could possibly manage. There wasn’t much more they could do until they could study this thing further. Rushing forward, they pulled Marley to their feet and out of the building getting as far away from any reflective surface that they could see. “You okay?” they panted.

Marley gasped heavily, sucking in a large breath when her body broke free from the glass, pulled by some otherworldly force out. Magic, she supposed, as she fell to the ground and saw Winston muttering something. Before she could say anything, a loud crack rang through the hallway as the window shattered into a million tiny pieces, evaporating away. Shit, that sure was handy. Hands above her head to try and cover her face, Marley moved stiffly, only to be yanked up by Winston. What a strange turn of events. They sped into the parking lot as fast as possible, away from the building, before they finally stopped, panting for breath. “Oh, yeah,” she exhaled, giving them a thumbs up, “peachy keen. Love being choked out.” 

As they moved away from the police building, Winston prayed that they would be able to get to the CCTV footage and deal with it in time. After all this would look very questionable if anyone not in the supernatural loop were to see it. “I’m not going to kink shame you but I didn’t think that you’d get that much of a kick out of a near death experience, but each to their own I guess.” Winston couldn’t help the smile as they looked around them at the mess they’d made. Captain Maynard would be very pleased.

#p: marley #wickedswriting #chatzy para #Chatzy #para #hail mary

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Castle on the Hill Chapter 1: Hyde

Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff, Thriller, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Superstition is as powerful as religion, especially to those living in the countryside. Nevertheless, the sole outsider in town fully joins in the belief of the Last Warden of the North and is insistent on protecting the only girl who accepts him yet refutes the local lore.

However, there is something in the castle on the hill.

And it hungers for something in the village below.

Someone.

You.

Author’s Note: Hello,

Indeed, I am still very much alive but have been extremely busy with university and my job. However, now that the holidays are coming up and I am on my Christmas break, I have a wee bit o’ time to write leisurely again.

I came up with this tale when I was in Cardiff in November, strolling around Bute Park and thinking of ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. And, let us be honest, I was thinking of Chan as well (though that should not come as a surprise at this point).

Regardless, hopefully you will enjoy this wee trilogy.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

Hyde / The Marriage of Man and Beast / Jekyll

Masterlist

Religion is a form of superstition, but just as powerful as the latter for it has ruled mankind in equal amounts, co-existing yet often the cause for war as well. In contemporary times, however, the belief in all folkloric creatures seems to have faded into a case for a good laugh rather than truly believing death will come at hearing the wail of a banshee or swearing the ghost of the black nun continues to haunt the ruins of the friary at which entrance she is buried. Withal, the faith in a particular mythological being has been altered time and again thanks to pop culture but, perhaps fortunately so, the origins of the legend remain remembered vividly by the people who inhabit the area the tale stems from.

The golden sunlight outlines the ruins of the majestic castle that once graced the hill outside the park, mustard and amber leaves littering the pathways frequented by strollers while the weather still permits it. Soon, winter shall conquer autumn and the rains increase in frequency. Henceforth, the days running a small café in the middle of the park is enjoyed the most when all is grand, the world frozen in a perfect seasonal frame.

‘You’re either immensely stupid or incredibly brave to run this establishment, lass.’ A cup of steaming black coffee is served to the wise old man living around the corner of the recreational ground, the white brick worker’s house providing a view on the scenery that everyone seems to fear even in the twenty-first century. Always up for conversation, Paidraigh has helped a novice independent entrepreneur almost flawlessly continue the business formerly run by one of the local women who had to stop due to health issues. He might look like a grumpy soul despising the world, but the stout figure with wise wrinkles and bushy pale beard is actually one of the kindest people residing in the wee village. 

‘How do you mean that, sir?’

‘Have ye nay heard o’ the wolf inhabiting the castle?’

‘I have heard the whispers of strange sounds coming from the ruins at night, aye, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘The word’s it’s a wolf, the spirit of the fierce Last Warden of the North to whom the castle once belonged. It’s said that once he entered the battlefield, all that would be left o’ the enemies were bloody carcasses. As if eaten by, ye guessed it, a wolf.’ Kind stone irises gain a wary glint once they wander to the edge of the sandstone terrace, noticing the heavy boot fall of the town’s most recent inhabitant. ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.’

‘Paddy, don’t be mean. Drink your coffee and leave the lad be, alright?’ A palm amiably pats a broad shoulder before tucking the serving plate under the armpit and heading back to the counter to take a new order.

And likely do more than that, knowing the newcomer.

‘Alright, fine. Just watch yersel’ around him. One wolf is more than enough for this village.’

‘Hiya, how are you?’ Before the habitual order can be placed with as few words as possible, attention is called to the deep scarlet scar running over the bridge of a big nose. ‘What did you do to get that?’

‘Bar fight.’ A soft smile is laboriously carved onto roseate lips, likely albeit clearly suppressing the memory of the scene causing the physical damage. Nevertheless, once gazes lock, the hatred is actively tried to be kept to a bare minimum and show a friendly side the reclusive does not always reveal to anyone. ‘An americano, please.’

Without speaking further, the beverage is prepared. However, as the coffee machine is buzzing while freshly grinding beans to create a perfectly brewed medium roast, the first-aid supplies stored in a cupboard beneath the counter are sought out and taken alongside the drink to the outside of the little booth. Of course, it could have been slid to the customer immediately through the window but it simply happened to unnecessarily be carried as well.

‘Here’s your americano.’ Sitting down on the empty stool across from the silent force looking on in surprise while maintaining a friendly though slightly tired tone, fingers search among the medical care items for the disinfectant and a cotton pad. The frustration wants to be kept to a minimum but it is hard to do so when this very same scene keeps repeating itself and fuels the bad image the villagers have of, in their eyes, a stranger.

Bruises and open wounds thanks to fights that were either started by one’s own volition or after provocation.

Cuts thanks to carving the wooden pillars dotting the grand park, curiously staying close to the little café and helping out at times by remaining on the grand lawn regardless of how many meters need to be bridged to get the new piece of art where it belongs.

‘I’m fine.’ The remark is clearly meant to dismiss the caregiving yet results in all but that since physical damage, no matter of what nature and source, do ignite a genuine worry for the local woodcarver.

Although the habitual resorting to sarcasm protects sincere emotions from showing. Nonetheless, it is helpful in chastising, never failing to eventually get Christopher to look like a guilty puppy while patching him up. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You strained yer knuckles too much and now they’re bleeding again.’

‘It’s but a scratch.’

‘Is what the Black Knight said before he got annihilated by King Arthur. Give me your hand, you eejit.’

‘Y/N, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s fecking not.’ A deep sigh lowers tense shoulders admitting that stubbornness will lead nowhere and thus take a soft-spoken yet still genuine approach. ‘I just want to help. Please, give me your hand.’

Howbeit reluctant, the damaged calloused palm nevertheless reaches out and comes to rest in a concerned lap as small digits wrap lightly around the wrist to keep it in place. ‘Thank you.’

The bystanders are ignored as the fresh ugly patches of broken skin are taken care of, taking great care to clean the wounds properly before bandaging them up. Withal, what cannot be ignored is the low threatening growl rolling from plush lips with every touch of disinfecting cotton. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that, grm, it really fucking hurts.’ Teeth grit, snarls and hisses alternating with the light dabs as irises shoot invisible daggers. The free hand which has yet to be treated moulds into a trembling fist trying to remain static despite the agony.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in the first place. What even was it about?’ The damage has been cleaned enough to apply an ointment and bandage the harmed knuckles, gaining the same feral reaction as before.

Notwithstanding, the silence is filled by wordlessness and primal noises, igniting an irritation at the deduction the chastisement is ignored in stubbornness. However, the assumption is counteracted when a whisper provides a muttered surprising answer that fuels a novel sort of annoyance in the mocha locks sitting on the stool. ‘Someone insulted you.’

No, it is not irritation.

Rage.

Pure fury, barely contained.

‘Me? Why?’ Puzzled by the confusing display of hatred against an absent party, locks tilt in patient curiosity waiting for the story.

‘It wasn’t really an insult. Just men drunkenly talking about how they’d show up here to surprise you and you’d be the girlfriend of one of theirs and how lucky you’d be with one of them.’ The split bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, nibbling while trying to regain a calmer composure even though it is hard when the second set of broken skin is about to be treated. ‘I couldn’t- couldn’t, fuck, that stings! I couldn’t stand the arrogant, hrm, tone and nonsense so I... I just lost it. Snapped.’

‘Christopher-’ The imminent correcting in spite of secretly being flattered by the reason that likely holds no meaning whatsoever since there is more of a patient-nurse relationship is cut short by a low snigger. ‘Hey, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I just like the way you say my name.’ Bright earthly irises set above a big nose marred by a scar likely inflicted by a knife blade are humoured, the sentiment filtering through in the gentle curve of plush lips. The playful aura makes the woodcarver appear quite boyish, a stark contrast with the pub brawler the village has cast out from the beginning.

‘Well, it’s yours, aye?’ Heated cheeks faking casualness return to the task of taking care of the other damaged hand, trying badly to ignore the sweet smile now vividly engraved into memory.

Keep it together. It means nothing. You’re more his nurse than anything else. You’re just friends, if there is any friendship at all. He simply trusts you.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘And I’m sure I don’t say it any differently than any other person.’

‘Still, I like- fuck!’ A giggle flows over into a curse when the bandage is tugged perhaps a bit too tightly to nevertheless teach the lesson of not getting into fights as often as one does. A pleased little grin cannot be suppressed, hiding the delight at the hopefully effective teaching method that will lessen the scene which is exhaustingly re-enacted over and over.

‘If you didn’t get into fights, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.’ A new cotton pad is soaked in disinfectant while throwing a cautious glance in Paddy’s direction, the old man’s lips tightly sealed as grey whiskers move ever so slightly in discomfort.

‘He doesn’t like me.’ A sombre self-aware tone sneaks into lowered defeated shoulders turned towards the old cod, gaze softening in powerlessness.

‘That’s not true.’ The seemingly misplaced remark pulls the young man’s attention, head slightly tilting to the side while irises remain strangely heart-wrenchingly grave.

If only they could know you the way I do.

‘Y/N,’ the powerful mere word is spoken as if surrender is not an option, that the truth of being disliked has to be admitted even though it does not want to be, ‘It’s obvious. Everyone’s afraid of me.’

‘The only thing they’re really scared of is the wolf up in the castle.’ Mocking local superstition, a sigh rolls from the lips setting to work on the carmine single cut running over the nose. There is no resistance this time, Christopher moving, in fact, to the edge of the stool for better access and to make cleaning the scar easier. ‘Guess I’ll hear the same uselessly worried whispers again from the customers tomorrow.’

A hand rests leisurely on the thigh for support, but is taken to come to rest on the brawler’s cheek and kept there, a content hum filling the air scented by coffee and cologne. Lashes flutter shut as mocha locks lean into the touch, almost as if falling asleep right here and now. It would be a lie to say the display does not spread an odd fuzzy warmth throughout, especially when memories of healing up close, observing wood being carved from a distance or problems with difficult people were solved in the same proximity as now resurface. 

Unfortunately, the delightful image is disrupted a second later for the jaw clenches as a low beastly rumble rises from a broad chest trying hard to remain casual as the disinfectant once again stings in the stupidly acquired cut. Irises light up in an amber flash, bearing a terrifying violent hatred that calms down immediately upon establishing a bit of distance that nullifies the intimacy. A confused heart does not know what to make of it, only that the rage that surfaced as rapidly as it disappeared never wants to be directed towards oneself. 

Still, a normal question is raised in an odd undefinable manner that rises from the fearsome wolfish attitude, voice sounding apologetical and clearly wanting to move past something as digits vaguely reach out but drop restlessly in ignorance of what to do. ‘Are you staying open much longer?’

The throat is cleared to regain composure, hardy succeeding yet enough to answer as if nothing happened. ‘Till six, as usual.’ The resumed dabbing briefly stops at the notice of an uneasy shift in weight, a panic without direct cause causing the action. ‘Why do you ask?’

Bandaged hands awkwardly occupy one another in futile twirling of cared-for fingers as the tongue staring at the sandstone is hesitant to voice what suddenly has become urgent. ‘Can you close earlier?’

‘I could but why would I?’ Feigning not having taken notice in the change of demeanour, the last straws are laid in nursing the bloody scar. The palm leaning on the knee of mocha locks, put there in an unconscious move after pulling up the unresisting chin for better access, does seem to calm the nerves somewhat as the regulation of breathing suggests.

When applying the ointment, it is entirely regular and a sigh is relieved with the company.

Only to speed up again when worriedly mentioning the legend that has the entire village spooked even in the twenty-first century. ‘The wolf.’

‘Christopher, don’t you get started as well. There’s no wolf in the castle, no spirit of the Last Warden of the North.’ Shuffling to the edge of the stool, something is attempted to be done about the split lip which has started bleeding again. ‘Your lip is bleeding. Sit still for a wee bit, will ye?’

Calloused fingers wrap firmly around the wrist reaching out after soaking a new dot of cotton in disinfectant, earthly irises ablaze with superstitious concern flowing over in pleading speech. ‘Please close the café before it gets dark.’

‘Look, it’s my business so I decide the opening hours.’ Budging results in nothing but a firmer, even painful grip. Withal, knowing the novel local woodcarver, panic does not set in as it would have had it been anyone else. Still, a meaningless glance sideways is picked up by Paddy as something which does hold significance, the stout old man already rising from his seat when a quick denying nod assures all is well. The command is tranquil yet effectively fierce. ‘Chris, let me go. You’re hurting me.’

As swift as lightning, digits unravel upon hearing the response and move away to create a distance filled by curious emotions that would hint at an intimacy going beyond what is truly present. ‘I’m sorry, he- we didn’t mean to... I- I mean, I didn’t mean to… to...’ A shivering sigh precedes a steadier repeated request, trying to move past the incident while remaining clearly doubtfully calculating of words and actions. ‘Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.’

We? He? Why are you talking like this?

‘I’ll be regardless because there’s no ghost or monster that will slink down the hill to devour me.’ The remark tries to be amusingly sarcastic but it has no effect on the outcast whose grave expression does not change, continuing to stare remorsefully at the red band around the wrists.

The shaking fingers holding soft cotton meant for healing.

Yet ends up hurting.

‘Even if you don’t believe my reason nor the villagers’, close early.’ Lashes are brave enough to look up, keep up the pleading despite being refused over and over.

Maybe I should... no, what am I getting at. It’s just a story, a myth.

‘Can we stop talking about this?’ A palm finds the courage to rise and endeavour to nurse the split lip anew. ‘Sit still and let me help you.’

But soon retracts in heart-pounding concern when unspoken consent flinches as bodies come a wee bit closer to make it easier. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Ehm,’ mocha locks confusedly and haphazardly glance around the terrace, questioning eyes flitting over the customers as a quite adorable big nose sniffs the air before leaning in to take a whiff, ‘Are you wearing perfume?’

‘No, why?’ The head buzzes with what to think of the weird gesture and unanswered inquiries about how the sudden change of topic has come about alongside the earlier talk in the third person. Brows furrow in wonder of the easiest topic for contemplation since perfume is fairly ineffective if unnecessary for the scent of coffee replaces the function on a daily basis.

‘Oh. Well- You- Never mind.’ A shadow movement forward remains just that, a hallucination without certainty. What is real, however, is the rapidity to get up and turn halfway away yet having the politeness to end the conversation by an unsettling awkward look over the shoulder. ‘I should go finish that pillar.’

‘But... your coffee?’ Christoper is already gone before the sentence can be finished, a gobsmacked offended finger pointing to the cooled cup on the counter containing liquid cold. In an instant, likely due to the great offence taken at letting such a precious gift to mankind waste away, the confusion of the chaotic farewell turns into a barista’s rage directed towards the woodcarver who has fled the scene. ‘The bastard just left the coffee to cool? That barbarian!’

The key turns in the lock, definitely closing business for the day. The moonlight falls in through the autumn leaves, casting moving shadows enhancing the dark of the dusk which has overtaken the quiet town. In the slightly clouded sky, the moon shines bright and illuminates the ruined haunted castle on the hill.

Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.

‘I am completely fine. There’s nothing out here to get me. Also, who is ‘’we’’?’ Jeering strands shake in partial self-mockery at the brief spark of fear quickly running through veins at the recollection of the wish spoken in an oddly worried tone, foolishly spooked by mere folklore. ‘And here I thought you and I were the only sane people around, Chris. Guess it’s just me.’

After a final tug on the doorknob to ensure the place is neatly closed off until the dawn, sneakers start their wading path among the fallen mustard and ruby leaves that have been shaded a hue of onyx, tiger’s eye or plum in the twilight. The wind has calmed from its fierce mannerisms, now only softly blowing among the trees densely planted in the great park.

Carrying the sound of a low rumble as it smoothes over branches.

A snarl.

In the twilight silence another disconcerting noise resonates between carved pillars and trunks.

Padding.

A faint tinkling.

Of iron.

Shackles.

No, I must be hearing things. His and Paddy’s words are just getting to my head. There’s nothing. Nothing.

Withal, the bright amber lights are no will-o’-the-wisps and the appearing fur does not appear in the adorable shape of a squirrel. There is not the faintest trace of innocence to be found in the extraordinary meeting between a gigantic wolf cuffed by a firm iron collar around its neck, the broken chain clinking loudly as it drags over the ground and creates a hideous symphony in combination with the violent low growls of the beast.

‘That’s not possible. There’s no Warden, no wolf. This isn’t real.’ Even as the words are spoken in the futile hope of regaining a sense of logic, the conviction is hardly there. In fact, it is entirely absent. ‘This isn’t happening.’

Nevertheless, the snarled warning tone is too near, the impact too tangible in nerves standing on edge in alarm to dismiss the current situation as mental trickery. Especially because the silver light reflecting off of dagger-sharp canines comes too close for comfort, sending raggedly breathing feet fleeing to the wee café a few meters away while silently praying to reach it alive.

However, every rush forwards paradoxically yields nothing to a panicked mind who can feel warm predatory breath heat the back of the brown leather jacket and slowly rise to the back of the neck. Mortified tears start to brim in the corners of the eyes, damnably obscuring vision at a time when errors cannot be made for one, be it stumbling over a fallen branch or temporarily slowing down, will mean the end.

Christopher, Paddy, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Youse were right and I’m a feckin eejit. I’m sorry. Chris, I’m sorry.

Growling grows ever closer, whispering of there being no escape because paws shall at one point do more than brush against ankles.

Rampant fingers search the pockets of jeans, cursing while feeling around the fabric for the damned key to open the lock to the safe haven.

Sneakers halt in front of the inaccessible door, still searching.

The wolf has slowed down, no longer running yet not giving up the chase now that the helpless prey has been forced into a corner. Big paws as black as a starless sky in winter pad languidly, bright eyes the colour of the pumpkin spice latte that forms the seasonal special obviously finding joy in the hunting game.

In toying with a hopeless target.

One step forwards.

One step back.

To and fro.

I can’t turn my back on it. Still, I have to if I want to get into the damned café. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

The shivering spine is frozen in place thanks to paralysis due to pure horror, though digits carefully and hopefully unnoticeable continue rummaging through pockets as they keep a close watch on the impending beastly enemy.

Where the fu- By Jaysus, there it is!

Tense shoulders lower slightly in relief when the key is found on the bottom of the right pocket, the brief second of peace of mind carrying over in an unconscious sweetly delighted sigh.

Which evidently triggers the haste to attack because the sadistic game of threats is cut short as the wolf lunges forwards at the speed of lightning.

Fortunately, sharp-fanged jaws are evaded just in time when the key is rammed into the lock, opening the blasted barrier before slamming the door shut and sealing it off once again. All the while cursing Heaven and Hell together.

Hastily, steps lead around the tiny kitchen in search of anything to barricade the door with. An effort which proves fairly futile as basically all equipment is installed in such a manner it cannot be moved and all tables and chairs are kept outside since thieves do not tend to take furniture when on a heist around here.

Or such is the sentiment with which they are stored outside.

Why, of all the times, did I store them outside? Why couldn’t I at least put one table and chair inside? There has to be something around here, there’s got to be.

The fierce longing finds a wonderful answer in the old yet glistening iron chain lock that the former owner of the establishment used before getting proper locks installed and which has been stored away in the back of one of the counters. Sneaking glances to the amber-eyed predatory shadow roaming the terrace through the window of the main counter, horrified palms reach for the sole barrier between life and death.

Flinching back while hardly suppressing mortified screaming, allowing a meek gasp to escape, when the door leading to the hunting dark rattles as if a great weight has been thrown against it in an attempt to force it open. Blood rushing in the ears of accelerated breathing on the edge of breaking down backs away from the tightly sealed entrance, putting the key that was kept inside the lock into the pocket, shivering thanks to the ice veins have turned into.

Finding safety in the corner of the kitchen, wrapping arms around the knees that have fallen to the ground without muscles and pressing tears knowing this is the end of the line into stony grey denim.

Paddy... Christopher... Chris, I’m so sorry. I wish you were here. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ye instead of being such a gobshite.

The memorized phantom of lush lips take a shivering figure soon to meet death into sturdy woodcarving arms dusted over with soft thin black hair, head resting against the secure chest that has been healed from sickly bruises, bleeding bullet wounds, fresh deep dagger scars or a combination of all. Because, despite the chastisements each time the curious artists shows up at the café in a worsened condition, there remains the recalled moments of mocha locks helping in dealing with difficult customers and men trying their futile luck by going too far. Christopher had been there at an oddly fascinated barista’s side, leaving as little distance between bodies as possible while snarling in warning of touching the boundaries of patience so desperate men would see their chances ruined and people complaining about the pettiest things would know the customer is not always king.

Day in, day out. From the moment the café opens until it closes, staying close by while creating the gorgeously engraved pillars dotting the landscape.

Sometimes even walking homewards together, wordlessly refusing to part ways before having made sure the sole girl in town not distrustful towards an “outsider” has arrived safely and only then cracking on to the personal roof. When not doing so, it is towards working places set in nature, enjoying the hush of the morning as the sun rises in the golden sky.

Hands used to meaninglessly brush against each other.

At some point, it has become a habit to hold his pinky from the moment of being picked up without an explicit arrangement until the destination is reached.

In blissful small talk or a comfortable silence.

I wish you were here. See you one last time.

But death is lonesome in the growling silence of the lush park.

#ksmutclub #Werewolf AU #Bangchan smut #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Chris Bang #Stray Kids #SKZ

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Of Two Brothers

A/N: So, I hate all of you who fed the plot bunny because this happened. Now, this is just a little sneaky peek for those still screaming “WRITE THE THING!” 

As you can see, I’m writing the thing. 

Had he ever been so bored?

The low murmur of voices, people laughing and celebrating, did nothing to alleviate the ennui. They were all so transparent in their fluff and their finery, smiling their plastic smiles and waving around their champagne flutes. At three hundred quid a bottle, one would think they would be more careful than to slop it haphazardly over his marble floors. Still, these troglodytes and clingers-on had little respect for him or his possessions. 

They were lured here by the bright lights of his stardom, desperate to be close, cling to his coattails, and ride their way to the top. Or, in the case of some, climb over his cooling corpse to achieve his level of fame.

Such was the nature of the bottle blonde currently clinging to his Armani. The woman was too thin for his tastes usually, but her beauty looked good on his arm. She dazzled and shone in his spotlight, taking the attention onto herself when he desired a moment to breathe air that was not laced with the tones of everyone's arse kissing.

And she was an excellent blow when he wanted his cock sucked; eager and experienced. That she was twenty-four and relatively brainless didn't hurt either. More than once, he'd caught her talking to producers and directors about how she was just using him to meet the right people and that she'd do anything for a chance at whatever role she was after. 

He didn't care. They weren't in a relationship, she was just a convenient place to warm his cock when he felt the need. Like at the end of the night when this party finished and everyone and their agent left. He would pin this bimbo Barbie against the wall and fuck her till she couldn't walk, then send her on her merry way. 

He was done playing her games. 

He was tired of playing all these games.

Then, the elevator to his flat dinged and drew his attention. A late arrival? Perhaps someone with some semblance of wit he could hold an actual conversation with. 

But, when the brass panelled doors opened to reveal a tall man in a Stetson, Thomas sneered and extradited himself from the woman on his arm. 

Down the stairs and threw the crowd, he wound his way, watching as the people parted for the out of place cowboy, striding through them in boots and wranglers with that ridiculously out of place hat. When, finally, he caught the man's eye, Thomas growled, "What are you doing here, William?"

The cowboy hooked his thumb in his pockets, eyes as cold and hard as Thomas'. "I've got news."

"And you also have a telephone."

"This isn't telephone kind of news."

Already drawing stares and whispers, Thomas jerked his head. "Come along, William. You're enough of a spectacle already."

They carved an imposing path through the people, Thomas leading the way to his office where he shut out the curious faces. "Drink?"

"You know I don't." The hat came off, revealing waves of ginger locks he thrust a hand through. 

Thomas shrugged and poured three fingers of scotch. "Well?"

"Dad's dead."

His hand froze for a moment before he added another finger of scotch. "Is that so? I'm sorry for your loss."

"Our. Our loss, Tommy."

He turned and lifted the glass in salute before tossing back half the drink. "Sodding right. Not that he gave two shits about me after I left to live with Mum."

"He was still our dad, Tommy."

"Don't call me that! It's Thomas. Not Tommy. Not Tom. Thomas!" he hissed and tossed back the rest of the liquor before slamming the glass down. "You could have called me about him. You know it means nothing to me!"

"You fucking shit! He was your dad too! You've gotta have some Goddamn feelings over this, Tommy!" The Stetson landed on a chair before William wrenched the zipper down on his jacket, revealing the same ugly plaid, snap-front shirt he'd been wearing all his life. 

"He hasn't been my dad since I was seventeen and moved to London to be with mum! And you're a Goddamn git for showing up tonight of all nights to tell me the old bastard's dead!"

"Don't you talk about him that way!" William bellowed. 

"My house! I'll bloody well say what I want to!" 

"Goddamn, you're as mean as a snake now! I can see Mom in you."

Thomas sneered but didn't dispute it. "This can't be the only reason you're here. What else? You wouldn't have flown all the way to New York just to tell me Dad's dead. That never would have drawn you off your precious ranch. What else is going on?"

William thrust his hand through his mess of hair, inches longer than Thomas's own. "SueAnn Clement, you remember her?"

"Fondly," Thomas muttered, lacing his voice with sarcasm.

"She's dead too."

"So?" What did that have to do with them?

"You remember what happened the night of our seventeenth birthday?"

Thomas smirked. "Oh, yes, brother. I remember that."

William paced across the room to stare out the window of his downtown apartment. "Her cousin contacted me. I guess SueAnn left a note behind when she died. Laid a few things out for this cousin. SueAnn moved not long after that night. Guess she had a kid."

He stiffened. "No."

William glanced at him. "Yeah. She's fifteen now."

"Fuck!" Thomas snapped. 

"Was my sentiments too."

"She's not mine. I want nothing to do with it," he denied vehemently. 

"You motherfucking dumbass," William sighed. "We're identical fucking twins! There's no way to know who she belongs to! She could be either one of ours, and we'll never know whose 'cause we've got the same damn DNA!"

"So? She's yours then." He waved a dismissive hand.

"No." William pointed his finger at him. "I'm tired of takin' on all the responsibilities here. She's our damn daughter! Yours and mine, and after readin' Dad's will, I come to find out he left the ranch to both of us, equal shares, so now I've got to run everything through my partner to make any decisions! So you, Tommy, are gonna come home and help out and meet your damn daughter. The cousin's arriving in a week."

"Kiss my dick, Will! Like hell, I will! This is my life," he snapped, waving at the apartment. "I'll just sell you my half, and we can be done with it!"

William sighed and went for his hat. "I can't buy your half right now, even if I wanted to."

"If it's the money, I'll sell you the entire thing for a dollar. What do I need your money for when I have more than enough of my own."

"It's not the fucking money! Dad left contingencies! He wanted you home. Made it clear if you don't come back, give it three months, I lose everything. The ranch goes up for sale, and we get nothing." He slammed the hat down on his head and looked at Thomas from the shadows beneath the brim. "I haven't asked you for anything our whole lives, Thomas. Not a damn thing. I'm asking for this. Three months. You come home. You meet our kid. You help me save our inheritance. Then, if you want out, you can have out, and we can be done with each other for good." He looked disdainfully around the room. "Cause that's clearly what you want."

William turned on his heels and made for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "Happy thirty-third birthday, brother." 

The door shut deceptively quietly behind him.

Thomas sank into a chair and lowered his head to his hands. "And you, brother," he whispered, a single tear dripping to the tile between his feet.  

#of two brothers #coming some day #yes I'm writing the damn thing

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 35)

Defender

A little bit of fluff after the party. Micah pushes his luck a bit too far and gets what’s coming to him. Arthur helps to save the day when something goes wrong, naturally. Contains: drinking, violence, kidnapping, conflict.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

When we arrived at camp, I was pleased to see that people were in high spirits. The girls had taken it upon themselves to throw a ball of their own; Pearson had made devilled gator eggs for dinner (which us five latecomers had to fight over the very last of), Dutch's phonograph was playing music, and people were dancing. 

Abigail and John were in a quiet spot behind Dutch's tent, slowly spinning together and sharing quiet conversation between them; I hadn't seen Abigail smile in such a way before and it warmed my heart. Kieran was awkwardly dancing with Mary-Beth, though it looked more like she was pulling him around while he just let her with this kooky smile on his face. Karen was drunk as could be, and she and Tilly were giggling about something by the girls' wagon. 

Dutch disappeared into the house after a while with Molly, and everyone else sat and drank in the muggy warmth of the swamp, enjoying the moment of serenity that seemed to settle over the camp during nights like this. 

Arthur was about to head inside to get changed, but I called after him and sheepishly asked if he'd like to dance. Initially he made a face of uncertainty, questioning if I was sure. I was, and I took him by both hands and led him towards the sound of the phonograph, grinning at him, and he soon loosened up to the idea.

"We aren't the only ones dancing," I reminded him, but walked us behind Pearson's wagon anyway, so we weren't in view of everyone. 

"Mary-Beth likes that O'Driscoll, don't she?" Arthur chuckled. I wrapped my arms around his neck and swayed in time to the music, feeling his hands settle on my waist.

"She sure does. And don't call him that," I addressed him with a faux tone of disapproval, a smile still plastered on my face.

"O'Driscoll?"

"It winds him up."

"That's sort of the point," he said, and I snorted, shaking my head at him. 

"Kieran's a nice feller."

"He ain't bad," he admitted, then spun me around before asking, "does this mean I got competition?"

"I like him, but not like Mary-Beth does," I giggled.

"Good, I can handle that," he nodded, smirking and ducking his head to kiss the edge of my jaw, "'cause I was getting used to this."

"Yeah?"

"Mm, getting to call such a beautiful girl my sweetheart," he whispered, sending tingles down each of my limbs, a delightful squeeze in my heart. "This dress… can't get over how amazing you look."

"Arthur," I breathed, my cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling.

He pulled me flush against him, his hands moving to the small of my back, his mouth hovering close to my ear. "I'm glad you came to the party. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did. Did you see the fireworks? Weren't they lovely?"

He chuckled and I felt it vibrate through my body. "Yeah, they were."

"You know, I only realised then what day it is," I began, "it's my birthday."

Arthur froze for a second, then tightened his arms around me. "Aw, happy birthday, princess. You could'a told me sooner, I would've got you something."

"I don't want you to get me anything, I didn't even remember it myself," I laughed.

"No, I should do something for you."

"I don't want no fuss," I practically pleaded with him, dipping my head, "I don't like that kind of attention, truly. And trust me, I ain't saying this with the secret hope you'll do some big elaborate thing for me, so don't feel like that's what you gotta do."

"You ain't… this ain't a backwards hint for me to do something big and elaborate, is it?" He said after a long pause. I burst into giggles. 

"No, I'm being completely transparent. I don't want nothing, I'm happy just having you. I promise," I kissed the side of his neck. "Please for the love of God don't do anything big or elaborate," I warned.

"Alright, 'cause I won't, if that's what you really want. Unless…" I heard the smirk in his voice.

"Arthur."

"Got it. So it'd be a disaster if I told everyone and organised a huge party with more fireworks and everyone in suits and gowns and–" 

"Arthur," I said more firmly, burying my face in his shoulder. 

"Alright, I definitely, definitely won't do that tomorrow night," it sounded like he was holding back laughter.

"You think I don't know you're just trying to be funny?" I accused through a smirk.

Arthur laughed hard, squeezing me tight in his arms. "Of course I am. Don't worry, angel face, I ain't gonna do nothing."

He pulled back enough to kiss my lips, all sweet and playful, just a little tongue, making me hum out my contentment. Our dance dissolved not unlike the time we'd danced before in his room, both of us distracted by our kiss. He let loose a quiet groan when I brought my hands to his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his dress shirt. I pulled back to look at him. 

"You look so good in this suit. If you could see yourself the way I see you," I whispered, shaking my head. 

Arthur smiled bashfully at my words, kissed me again, walked me back against the side of Pearson's wagon and caged me in with his arms. I weakened under his attention, my tummy doing excited flips and spins. My mind went dizzy and blank. Arching into him, my arms encircled his neck and he pinned me by his hips, the wagon rattled behind me. We'd forgotten where we were, that was for sure.

"What in God's name is going on back here? Oh, Christ–" Pearson interrupted us and Arthur tore his mouth away from me, but his body didn't move for a few moments more, until he realised how close we'd become then he carefully peeled himself away.

"What? What's the problem?" Arthur asked, his voice gruff and impatient though he uttered it as if nothing was amiss. 

"Nothing! Sorry, I'll just, uh," Pearson murmured, retreating back around to the other side of the wagon.

We exchanged a look and a breathy laugh. 

"Come on, we should get changed. That dress of yours'll get ruined out here."

"If you wanna get me out of this dress, you don't have to give me an excuse, just ask nicely," I teased, smirking at him. He laughed and reached for my shoulder, pushing me towards the house while he shook his head at me.  

"Now who's trying to be funny?"

"Oh, you think I'm joking," I flashed him a devilish grin.

We headed inside, skipping up the porch steps and through the front door hand in hand. Heading through to the staircase, we were interrupted by Micah, lounging on the floor up against the wall with a bottle in his hand. He seemed to have been getting involved in the festivities in his own way, drinking himself silly all alone in the house, he had an aura around him that absolutely reeked of booze. We were trying to pass him by without a word, but when he slid his leg out across the floor in front of our feet in an attempt to trip us up, we stopped dead and looked at him.

"Evening, Micah," I said monotonously.

"Enjoy the soiree?" He questioned, sarcasm overflowing from his slurred words. 

"It was a pleasant enough evening," I nodded, "a little tiring, though, we wanted to head to bed," I hinted and Micah just laughed.

"Plannin' on giving her a good bumpin', Arthur?" 

"'Scuse me?" Arthur screwed his face up, gaining more giggles from the childish drunk in front of us.

"Give her one from me, will ya?" Micah added, licking his lips and trailing his eyes carnally up and down my body. I instinctively raised a hand to my collar bone, obscuring my cleavage with my arm. 

"Mind your damn business, you filthy pig," Arthur said, squeezing my hand and tugging me around Micah's leg towards the stairs. 

"She tight, Morgan? Bet she is," Micah said, and for once I wished I was clueless enough to not understand what he was referring to. Arthur let go of my hand and spun around, stepping back into Micah's space. Micah hissed in pain, and I looked down to see Arthur's boot pressed into his hand. My heart throbbed with adrenaline.

"What was that?" Arthur growled, his jaw clenched tight. Though he was clearly in pain, Micah was still smiling, like he was getting some sick enjoyment from riling Arthur up.

"Asked if your girly's a tight one. And hey, what're those tits like under there? They nice and young 'n' perky?" He continued, refusing to put down the shovel. I could see the tension in Arthur's shoulders and I knew he was going to lash out eventually, I didn't have any desire to stop him. 

"You think you're a real card, don't ya? You're gonna watch your mouth from now on, otherwise you'll be picking your teeth up off'a the floor," Arthur warned, twisting his foot, grinding down on Micah's hand. 

Micah's voice was strained but his pain didn't stop him. "What am I saying? I know what they're like. Never used to like her in pants till I saw her all wet from the rain, she don't wear much under those shirts, does she? All clingin' to–ungh!" Arthur swung his leg up abruptly, driving the toe of his boot straight into Micah's face. I gasped and jerked back, hands flying to cover my mouth.

"That's e-goddamn-nough," Arthur yelled, tone deep and chilling.

"Arthur! What in God's name are you doing?" Dutch appeared at the top of the stairs and we all swivelled to look. He was staring at the mess Arthur had made; blood poured from between Micah's fingers where he held his nose. 

"Jus' delivering what was damn well coming to him," Arthur snapped, stepping backwards away from Micah's hunched form, bleeding onto his clothes. His shoulders were jerking, and I frowned at the realisation that he was laughing. How could someone laugh after being kicked in the face like that? He was fucking crazy!

"What has gotten into you, son? Micah is one of us, we have enough enemies out there, we don't need petty fights between us," Dutch chastised him, coming down the stairs and pushing past us to get to Micah. 

"He was disrespecting my lady, Dutch, what do you expect me to do? You never heard the things he was–"

"Oh, grow up, Arthur. Lady or no lady we are all brothers here."

Micah lifted his head, baring his teeth and showing a gap in the front, his mouth rusty and dark with blood. 

"You kicked my tooth clean down my throat, Morgan, that was a good one," he slurred, then reached up to rattle his remaining teeth, checking for loose ones.

"I gave you fair warnin'," Arthur simply shrugged. 

"Jesus, Arthur," Dutch shook his head, helping Micah to his feet.

"Be as disappointed as you want, Dutch, you'll never hear an apology from my mouth. Not for that disgustin' pervert," Arthur jabbed a finger at Micah, "you keep your eyes to yourself or you'll be losin' them too."

"Enough! Oh, how I wish I could make you boys get along," Dutch lamented, leading Micah into the next room.

"We'd get along just fine if I never saw the prick again," Arthur quipped, and Dutch shook his head as they disappeared around the corner. 

Quiet fell over the room rather suddenly, Arthur still had his back to me, his breathing was a little elevated and I could see it in the motion of his shoulders. After a while, he finally turned to me, his face still sour with anger. 

"Sorry you had to watch that," he said.

I shook my head and took his hand, pulling him up the stairs with me. "I'm not," I shrugged, throwing a smile over my shoulder at him. "In fact I thank you for it."

"Seriously? You're gonna thank me for kicking his teeth out?" He queried, voice high pitched and incredulous.

"For defending my honour."

"Of course. Probably could've done that without kicking him in the face, but it sure felt good," he was resisting a little smirk, but it still slipped out.

We made it into our room and I closed the door behind us, turning and wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning in close. "Felt good to watch. Saying all that shit about me. Do you really see– is it bad, when I don't wear the corset and the chemise and all that under my clothes?"

"What? Don't listen to that fool, he was trying to piss me off."

"I just– when I'm workin', sometimes I don't wanna wear a damn corset. You try bending over in those things. And my chemise is too long to tuck into my jeans, so that's another layer I can't wear," I frowned to myself. 

"Shit, is this gonna stay with you? Has he made you insecure about this?"

"Maybe I should get something more substantial than my corset cover to wear under my shirt. I thought it would be okay," I murmured, frowning to myself.

"It is okay," he sighed, nuzzled his face into my neck. "Don't take anything he says to heart, barely any truth comes out of his mouth."

"Yeah, I know," I breathed, brushing the thoughts aside. "Will you unbutton me?" I asked, pulling out of his grip and turning around. 

"Sure," he whispered, fingers going to the small buttons running down the back of my dress, carefully easing them free one by one. "My beautiful girl."

"Arthur," I smiled turning my head to look at him from the corner of my eye. 

"Stay in here with me tonight? I'm feeling like… like I've done enough socialising for one day and I could do with some respite," he quietly requested, unfastening the final button that allowed me to step out of my dress, down to my undergarments. 

"You sure you want me here? You'd still be socialising," I pointed out humorously. 

"Yeah well, you're different. You're easy to be around," Arthur said, shrugging out of his jacket and vest, loosening his bow-tie, so he could relax as he laid down on his bed, patting the spot next to him. 

"Should I take that as a compliment?" I asked unsurely, joining him on the bed, slotting in under his arm and against his chest.

"I meant it as one," he said as he chuckled, "your company is… comfortable. Always nice. I never have to act like somethin' I ain't. That's all I meant."

"Oh, well, I'm glad," I smiled, nestling my cheek to his shoulder, "so, you meet anyone interesting at this party?" I asked, and we spent the remainder of the evening discussing our brush with high society.

-

The next day, the camp was pretty quiet, for the most part. I'd stuck around doing chores, mostly. A lot of the camp had the same idea; John was fixing the wheel of one of the wagons, so when I decided to do some washing, I set up the bucket nearby to keep him company. 

"Saw you dancing with Abigail last night, things between you two are getting better, huh?" I asked, kneeling down and beginning to scrub at Uncle's union suit; a task all of the women avoided like the plague. I found it was okay as long as you didn't think too hard about it. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd give it to us to wash more damn often.

"Oh, yeah. She was in a surprisingly good mood last night, I'm not getting my hopes up too high," he replied and I gave him a look. 

"She seemed pretty happy."

"Abigail; she is a difficult woman to predict. One day she's wanting to dance with me, the next she wants nothing to do with me. I've learned to just respond accordingly," he laughed, hammering at a peg holding the wheel in place. 

"Well, I think you mean a lot to her. Maybe she just don't know how to show it," I shrugged.

"That'd make two of us," he said under his breath, "I always liked her a lot, she's a good woman. I guess I just never know where I stand with her, don't know which version of her I'm gonna wake up to."

"It'll take time."

"Time since what?" John repeated, lowering the hammer, "oh, I guess you know about what I did then, huh?"

I looked at him, I didn't need to say anything for him to know he was right.

"Well, I know I acted out. I know I probably deserve everything I get from her. Don't mean I'll be happy about it, all I want is a little understanding," he muttered. 

"Understanding about what?"

"About being thrust into parenthood. I love Jack, I do, but I don't know the first thing about kids. If he weren't already walking, I wouldn't know that he was supposed to be," he frowned to himself, looking over at where Jack was rolling around with Cain, the dog. "What's a kid his age supposed to be able to do? Is he gonna remember all this when he's older? Is he capable of seeing what a clueless old man he's got?" John shook his head, exhaling a hollow laugh.

I chuckled. "I don't know. I don't know nothing about kids either, John."

"Ain't women got… instincts? They just sort'a know these things?"

"If they do, I've missed out."

"Right," he laughed, then went back to fixing the wheel, "anyway, I try. I know I ain't trying hard enough, but I will."

"I don't think you're useless, John. You got him back from Bronte, didn't you?"

He hummed, showing little enthusiasm for my words. 

"You can be a great dad, you will be. You just gotta be prepared to learn and be there for your son. Maybe you should do something with him," I suggested. 

"Like what?"

"I don't know, maybe sit and read with him? He likes story books, don't he?" 

John considered this for a moment, and I smiled at him. 

"I reckon he'd like that," I added. 

I jumped when out of nowhere something landed beside me; more clothes added to the pile I was in the process of washing. I looked up to see Micah strolling away without a word, and I blinked, unable to conjure a suitable response. 

"Hey! Learn some goddamn manners!" John yelled after him. Micah spun around, continuing to walk away but backwards, spreading his arms wide as if he was clueless about what he'd done. 

"She's doing the washing, ain't she? Those need doing," he responded, words spoken a little gummily from his swollen mouth, then he scoffed and turned away, shaking his head. 

John just stared at him with parted lips, stunned, before looking to me for my response. I wordlessly picked through the pile, retrieving Micah's clothes and dumping them in a second pile, then carried on from where I left off, ignoring them. 

"What a waste of space that guy is," John hissed, making me laugh. "What happened to his face, anyway?"

"Arthur," I said, and John made a snort, an understanding laugh. "Micah and I ain't been getting along so well. I thought we might've been friends, but now he knows I'm with Arthur, he's dropped any trace of charm and instead he's just being an asshole."

"I don't know what's harder to believe, Micah managing to be anything close to charming, or you actually considering him a friend."

"You don't have to tell me. What a fool I was."

"Well, I wouldn't call you a fool, but… naive, maybe," he laughed.

"We worked on some good jobs together, he could be nice sometimes. It's all changed now, tried to kiss me the other night 'cause I told him I didn't hate him," I snorted, "he got a little nasty when it didn't go his way, so that's that."

"Jesus, Micah actually has feelings?" He exclaimed, and I looked at him with a confused frown. "He was sweet on you, right? Now he's feeling sorry for himself."

"Oh, God no, I don't think he was sweet on me. I think he just wanted to bed me, like a… conquest," I admitted, laughing. John's brows raised at my bluntness and I cleared my throat, looking down at the washboard.

"Either way, he's pathetic, don't wash his shit," John concluded.

"Don't worry, I won't," I smirked, "you got any clothes need doing? I'll wash everyone in camp's just to spite him."

"That's real petty," he said, but he was grinning and it sounded like a compliment. We each shared a laugh, and I forgot about Micah quickly in John's company.

-

By evening, Charles returned from hunting and he'd brought back plenty of turkey for us to eat, and so I'd been helping Pearson get dinner ready. I was just finishing chopping up the vegetables when I heard the commotion by the women’s wagon. Miss Grimshaw was marching around like she was on the warpath and Arthur and Mary-Beth were staring at her with wide eyes. I couldn't make out what she was saying but she did not sound pleased, and Arthur immediately rose to his feet when she grabbed a gun and some ammunition. My stomach dropped. 

Arthur had barely just returned to camp, having had a meeting with someone he'd met at the party, Evelyn Miller, something about helping an Indian chief and his son. He hadn't given me much detail, as usual, just that he'd have to meet with the son in a few days. He didn't sound particularly pleased about whatever he was supposed to be doing, but he hoped it'd make him some money for the gang.

Wondering what was so urgent he needed to leave again right away, I put down the knife I'd been cleaning and went over there as Arthur and Susan rode away on a wagon, leaving a shaken looking Mary-Beth to sit back down in her previous spot. 

"Mary-Beth, what was all that about?" I asked, and she picked up her book and scrubbed her thumb up and down the edge in a nervous fidget.

"They've gone to get Tilly. They think her old gang have taken her, I would not wanna be those men right now," she explained, shaking her head numbly.

"Is she in danger?" I balked, a jolt going down each limb from panic.

"Well, it's not ideal, but I don't think she's got much to worry about with those two going after her. Miss Grimshaw knows where to look and she won't go easy on 'em."

"I surely hope not," I breathed, shaking my head and sitting down next to her, "so what happened? They grab her from camp?"

"I don't really know, I didn't know anything was wrong till just now. I hadn't seen her today, but I thought she might've been out on a job with some of the boys," she sighed sadly, "I had no idea those Foreman fellers were around here."

"Foreman? I've heard that name before," I frowned and Mary-Beth nodded.

"You might've read about them in the papers, they're known to be… not very nice men. Tilly ran with them for a while but she got away and joined Dutch. She hasn't been able to fully move on ever since, one of 'em found her in Valentine, I wonder if they've been following her this whole time," her forehead crumpled in fear, and her eyes turned distant. 

"Oh my gosh," I shook my head, "well, I'm sure when Arthur and Miss Grimshaw find her, she won't have to deal with the Foremans anymore," I said meaningfully, and Mary-Beth was quick to agree.

"I guess these things remind us all to stay vigilant. Speaking of, I saw some O'Driscolls near camp the other day. I already told Dutch, and they were dealt with, but I think people should know," she warned me, and I felt sick instantly. My eyes immediately scanned the area around the outskirts of camp for any unfamiliar figures. 

"That does not bode well," I murmured, thoughts turning to Arthur, "were they close enough to know we're here?"

"I don't think so, they probably didn't know what hit 'em. Dutch sent Bill and Micah out to find 'em, and they did," she explained, her tone morbid, "I spoke to Kieran about it last night. I tried to encourage him to stick around other folk more, I know he likes to stray off near the horses, but with the O'Driscolls sniffing around…"

"You like Kieran, don't you?" I asked, noting the way her eyes stared off towards where the man in question was polishing a saddle on the other side of the camp. Mary-Beth giggled at the question. 

"He's a nice man, and very sweet once you get to know him a little. I'm glad he's with us, now, that's all I'll say," she answered, a wide smile on her face.

"I saw you dancing with him last night," I noted, excitement bubbling within me for her sake.

"And Pearson saw you and Arthur getting real friendly behind his station, don't think he kept it quiet," she laughed loudly, giving me reason to flush, mortified. "Don't be embarrassed, you're allowed to have fun! Even if it does seem like things are all doom and gloom around here sometimes. You have to embrace the good things."

"Well, that's very true," I nodded, and as if on cue, a wagon came rolling into view carrying Tilly and Miss Grimshaw. Relief filled me instantly, and I tapped Mary-Beth's arm to get her to look. 

"Tilly!" She exclaimed, jumping up and running over to the wagon. 

I joined her, watching Arthur riding in behind them on a horse I didn't recognise. He jumped down and came over to the wagon, helping Tilly down with an outstretched hand. She and Mary-Beth shared a quick embrace; she looked a little shaken and bruised, but certainly happy to be back around friendly faces. 

"You alright, Tilly?" I asked and she gave me a relieved nod.

"I'm fine, 'specially since I just got to see Anthony Foreman hog-tied and on the verge of pissin' himself," a fiery smile appeared on her face at the end of her sentence, one I couldn't help but mirror.

"He won't be bothering you no more," Arthur assured her with a careful hand on her shoulder.

"He's just lucky it weren't up to me whether he lived or died, you know exactly what I'd've done to the maggot," Miss Grimshaw thundered around the wagon, "but I'm glad to have you home, Miss Jackson."

"I'm glad to be home! Thank you, both," Tilly said to her and Arthur. 

Susan smiled and touched Tilly's cheek briefly before sending her off with Mary-Beth to get cleaned up, then left herself, leaving Arthur and I alone. I turned to him, where he was leaning up against the wagon and lighting a cigarette. 

"I'm glad she's safe. Those fellers won't give her any more hassle?" I asked, leaning next to him. 

"I doubt it. I let the last guy live to make sure he tells the rest of 'em to stay away, reckon we scared him real good," he said, exhaling smoke with his words, "Tilly's a strong woman. She handled it well, you should'a seen her telling him exactly what she thought of him," he smiled, chuckling. 

"I bet it was satisfying for her."

"I bet. Thank God we made it there in time. Anyway, it's done now. She'll be safe. How's your day been?"

"It's been a lot less eventful than yours, you deserve a beer. Or at least a sit down," I chuckled and Arthur shook his head with a smile. 

"I'm fine. Hey, I got you something," he started, turning around and putting his cigarette between his lips so he could lift the saddlebags off the black and white spotty horse he'd acquired. "I know you said you didn't want anything for your birthday, and I'll respect that. But here, how 'bout something practical that I didn't pay for?"

"Something you stole?" I clarified, following him over and taking the bag from him. 

Arthur plucked the cigarette from his mouth and blew the smoke away from my direction. "Something that weren't gonna be of any use to the previous owner," he chuckled.

I opened up the saddlebags, peering inside. It was full of horse kit; a brush, oatcakes, medicine, a set of spurs and a spare blanket among other bits and bobs. There was also a water canteen, an apple, some cash and a ring with a red stone mounted on it.

"I see you asking Kieran to borrow his brush, you still ain't got one of your own. Saw that and thought of you, there's plenty of other useful stuff in there. I thought I might as well give it to you, though it ain't much of a birthday gift. It's something," he explained, and I smiled up at him, then pulled out the ring for a closer look. 

"This is thoughtful of you, I certainly could do with all of this. Thanks, Arthur," I said, then threw the bags over my shoulder to free up my hands so I could try the ring on. "The ring's a nice bonus."

"You like that? Looks like a ruby. Might be worth something," he said, then watched me slide it onto my finger and admire it, "or you could keep it, looks pretty," he added.

"I think I will," I grinned, showing my hand to him. He took it in his hand, lacing our fingers together. 

"You wanna do something nice together? I feel bad your birthday went by without any celebration," he asked under his breath, stepping closer and flicking his cigarette aside.

"I spent my birthday watching fireworks at the mayor of Saint Denis's house, I think I did alright," I patted his arm affectionately, "but I will certainly take advantage of your offer. I'll never say no to spending time with you."

"Alright, what'chu wanna do? I could take you for a meal some place in the city, we could go see a show… we could go out for a ride together," he listed off thoughtfully and I beamed, feeling so unbelievably happy in that moment, I could barely contain it. 

"Can we just go upstairs and kiss on your bed?"

Arthur jolted at my question, his brows going up. After a moment, he let out a quiet breath and smiled. 

"You sure that's what you're goin' with?"

"It's all I wanna do."

He released a breathy laugh, shaking his head, then gestured to the house. "Alright then, my lady. After you."

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